


People Keep Trying to Kill Me

by peachpeach



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Margol Trevelyan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:42:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4777382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachpeach/pseuds/peachpeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra made a huffing noise, before handing Margol some healing potions. “Take these,” she ordered. “You will need them.”</p><p>Suddenly, Margol was very tempted to stubbornly refuse to take any of the potions. She imagined herself standing triumphantly at their destination, unscathed, while Cassandra limped behind her, begging to have one of the healing potions that she had given to Margol. 'Now who needs them?' She would say, throwing her head back and laughing as a triumphant orchestra would begin to play. </p><p>“Erm, thanks,” Margol said awkwardly, taking the potions from Cassandra and trying to beat the mental image away.</p><p>-----</p><p>A humor-filled look into the life of the new Inquisitor. She also eventually hits it off with Cullen, but at first they pretty much completely distrust each other.</p><p>
  <b>On indefinite hiatus.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to get back into writing after not writing anything noteworthy in two-ish years. Feel free to critique, add suggestions, or point out mistakes or odd sentences!

Margol still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t some horrible, surreal dream she was having.  
  


Her left hand was screaming in pain as it glowed - glowed! - as she jogged up a mountainside with a short-haired woman who was apparently a Seeker. Or used to be a Seeker? Either way, Margol had thoroughly pissed off the Maybe-Seeker after they had tumbled off of an exploding bridge, only to find themselves face-to-face with some actual, real-life demons.

 

Though her family back in Ostwick had ties with both the Chantry and with the Circle, Margol had never seen a demon before. They looked more… real than she had expected them to. Her younger self had always imagined demons as shadowy, wolf-like creatures, but the ones before her were terrifying and well-designed for some wicked purpose.

 

Luckily, some crates had tumbled down with them as they fell from the ruined bridge and out of one of the crates spilled some daggers. They weren’t very good quality, but they were enough for now. Margol had grabbed a twin pair and had charged headfirst into a demon, effectively saving the Maybe-Seeker - Cassandra - from a nasty gash. But once their fight had been over, Cassandra had simply turned to Margol, still holding her sword and shield defensively.

 

“Drop. Your. Weapon,” she ordered in a loud, clear voice.  She sounded like someone who was used to having her orders obeyed.

 

“So you’re saying you can protect both of us - you can fight off all the demons that come falling out of the sky?” Margol questioned lightly, looking unperturbed by the sword in her face as she sheathed her newfound weapons on her back. Cassandra’s grip on her sword loosened reluctantly. “Ah, that’s what I thought.”

 

That really seemed to tick Cassandra off. She made a huffing noise, before handing Margol some healing potions. “Take these,” she ordered. “You will need them.”

 

Suddenly, Margol was very tempted to stubbornly refuse to take any of the potions. She imagined herself standing triumphantly at their destination, unscathed, while Cassandra limped behind her, begging to have one of the healing potions that she had given to Margol. Now who needs them? She would say, throwing her head back and laughing as a triumphant orchestra would begin to play.

 

“Erm, thanks,” Margol said awkwardly, taking the potions from Cassandra and trying to beat the mental image away. If Cassandra noted her suddenly strange disposition, she said nothing.

 

The pair walked on in silence, their path occasionally peppered with a few demons. Margol did not speak to Cassandra; she was still a little miffed at her about the weapons ordeal and the way that Cassandra never let Margol vanish from her sight during their battles. It was justified, she supposed; she did look suspicious with all of the circumstances but that didn’t-

 

“What do I call you?” Cassandra demanded suddenly, tearing Margol out of her thoughts.

 

“Ah, what?”

 

Cassandra sighed. “Back there, with that demon in your blind spot. I tried to call out to you, to warn you, but I don’t know your name. That is why I just said, ‘look out.’”

 

“Oh,” Margol said, her brown eyebrows furrowing. She thought Cassandra had done a good enough job of warning her. The rogue had managed to jump aside at the last second and the demon’s claws had only scraped her side; it was a superficial wound, one that would have been much worse without the Seeker’s warning. “My name is Margol.”

 

“Margol. Very well,” Cassandra said. The pair dropped into silence once more as they climbed up some stone steps that were slick with ice and snow. As they approached the top of the makeshift staircase, the sound of fighting could be heard. Cassandra wasted no time charging in to assist the soldiers and Margol followed suit, slightly bewildered by what she saw.

 

“This is the strangest thing I’ve ever been involved in,” she called to no one as particular as she plunged her daggers into the back of a demon that had been charging toward…. a dwarf who was flipping around with a crossbow. The injured demon squealed, arms wildly flailing around and landing a blow on Margol’s unhelmeted head as it did so. She felt warm liquid ooze over her temple and down her neck, into the plain armor she had been given.

 

She didn’t have much time to worry about how much blood she might be losing, though; another demon came to replace the one she had just killed and another one after that. Once the fighting seemed to stop she sheathed her daggers, finally getting a good look around.

 

“Quickly!”

 

An elven mage she hadn’t noticed before came toward her, his hand wrapping around her wrist roughly. He pulled her to the green tear, thrusting her palm into the air. Her hand crackled - not quite painfully, but with a foreign sensation that was definitely unpleasant - and a green light shot forward, connecting her palm with the tear in the sky. Light burst and dazzled in the air around them, before finally coming to a stop.

 

The tear was gone, just as the Seeker and her redhead friend had predicted.

 

“Yes, I thought so,” the mage mused, looking satisfied. Apparently he had theorized just the same. He now looked upon Margol, but spoke to Cassandra. “The mark on her palm has the ability to close the rifts.”

 

“And does it also have the ability to open them?” Cassandra asked.

 

“I think it must,” he said. “But I do not think your prisoner was responsible for the Breach... nor any of the smaller rifts. She’s not a mage; it would have taken a grand scale of magic in order to do achieve such a feat.”

 

Margol smiled slightly. “Maker’s breath - are you telling me somebody here actually believes that I’m innocent?” she questioned incredulously, making the flippy dwarf laugh.

 

“I do,” the elf confirmed. “The fact that you agreed to help us also helps your case.”

 

The dwarf shrugged, reloading his crossbow. “Of course she’s helping - she lives in this world, doesn’t she? Probably doesn’t want to live in a place that’s got demons falling out of the sky.”

 

Margol smiled. “True enough.”

 

There was a silence before the elven mage cleared his throat, causing her gaze to turn back to him. “We will help you and Cassandra reach the forward camp,” he said, leaning casually against his staff. “I am Solas.”

 

“Ah, Chuckles, why are you volunteering me? It’s about time I hit the road… kidding!” the dwarf said, putting his hands up defensively as Cassandra shot him a look and took a step closer. He lowered his hands, looking to Margol. “Varric Tethras, at your service. I didn’t get your-”

 

“Her name is Margol,” Cassandra cut off, motioning toward a broken wall. She stepped over some of the demon bodies and climbed over the low stones, pointing down the mountain side. “We must head this way. Quickly. We need to meet Leliana. You two can talk if we survive this ordeal.”

 

“Is she always this… sunny?” Margol asked as they followed Cassandra over the broken wall. Solas hung back behind the group, occasionally casting some kind of wards around the group that made Margol’s skin tingle.

 

Varric chuckled. “She sure is. She hauled my ass outta Kirkwall to bring me up here and I don’t even get a ‘thanks, Varric, for staying and helping us not die.’”

 

“Varric Tethras, you said? You’re... not the Varric that wrote Hard in Hightown, are you?” she questioned slowly. Varric’s face lit up.

 

“Why, are you a fan?” he teased. “Don’t ask me for spoilers. People always ask me for spoilers.”

 

“This is the strangest thing I’ve ever done,” Margol muttered under her breath. Here she was, trekking across a frozen river, led by a Seeker and walking next to the Varric Tethras, famous Kirkwall author, while an elven apostate trailed behind them. “If I live through this I’m going to have some amazing stories. My family is not going to believe any of this.”

 

Varric chuckled again. “Don’t worry. If I live through this, I’m going to write it all down. You can just throw a book at each family member’s head until they believe you,” he said. “Speaking of family - your accent. You’re from the Free Marches?”

 

“Yes,” she said, surprised. “From Ostwick.”

 

“I’ve got some friends in Ostwick. What’s your last name?” Varric asked thoughtfully.

 

“Trevelyan,” she said idly, accepting Solas’ hand as he helped her down a particularly steep embankment that was covered with an icy sheet of snow. The mage grunted as she stumbled a bit on the last step down and shouldered him. “Sorry!”

 

“It is fine,” he assured her.

 

Cassandra had appeared suddenly, her arms crossed over her chest as she waited for Varric to make his way down the hill. “You belong to house Trevelyan?” she asked. “Are you a niece of the bann? His daughter?”

 

“His daughter,” Margol confirmed as Varric finished descending the steep hill. Cassandra sighed, sounding irritated. “What? Are you some mortal enemy of the Trevelyans that I never knew about?”

 

“No,” Cassandra said. “I am just wondering how we will explain this to your relatives if we survive this. I do not think Bann Trevelyan would be very happy to know that we held his daughter prisoner and she was almost assassinated... twice. Another headache for us to deal with.”

 

“You’re joking,” Margol said incredulously. “People wanted to kill me before I even woke up? What kind of strange mountain folk do you have here that think it’s okay to execute someone without a trial?”

 

“You haven’t spent enough time in Fereldan,” Solas said with a small chuckle.

 

“The Seeker here prevented anyone from making you kick the bucket, though,” Varric said. “And Solas stopped the mark from killing you. An awful lot of people - and things - want to kill you. Are you sure you’re not responsible for this?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Margol said, frowning slightly. And yet… she couldn’t remember what had happened. She remembered running and she remembered a woman, but she didn’t remember anything else. And before that, she only remembered being told she had been chosen to attend the Conclave… her journey to Haven was one giant blank space. “I… I hope not, at least.”

 

“You could not be responsible,” Solas assured her as they continued to crunch through the snow toward the forward camp. “My studies suggest-”

 

He was interrupted as Cassandra drew her sword, beginning to charge up a mountainside stone path toward a long bridge. “Another rift!” the Seeker cried. Margol lifted her eyes, following the trail up the small hill to see a familiar green-ish glow hovering just outside of the forward camp’s gate. As the rogue followed Varric and Solas up the hill, she gasped in pain as her hand jerked, glowing green as she approached the rift.

 

The thrumming in her hand did not subside as they fought, cutting down the first demon wave and a second that followed. “Close the rift!” Cassandra yelled as she pulled her sword from the body of a demon with a sickening squelch, but she didn’t need to; Margol was already lifting her palm high, letting a bolt of green light connect her palm and the rift. After a few seconds, she ripped her hand away, clenching her fist and watching the tear seal.

 

“You are becoming quite proficient at this,” Solas observed, the air around the mage still shimmering from the effects of a spell.

 

“Yes, I’m really good at thrusting my hand… into the sky. Took years of training,” she said breezily, making Cassandra make another one of her disapproving noises.

 

“It is hardly the time for sarcasm and humor,” Cassandra said, waiting impatiently as some guards began to open the gate that covered their end of the long stone bridge. Once the heavy wooden doors had been opened, their small group of misfits proceeded to walk across the bridge toward the redhead Margol had met earlier and an angry-looking Chantry Chancellor.

 

“Her!” he spat as soon as they approached, lifting a finger to jab in her direction. “Guards! Arrest her! She must be taken to Val Royeaux for trial and execution at once!”

 

The soldiers lazily looked over at the area, but they did nothing. The redhead, Leliana, pursed her lips. “That is not your choice, Chancellor. Besides, we have more important things to worry about at the moment.”

 

“Like this giant hole in the sky,” Margol pointed out, thoroughly delighted when the Chancellor started to turn an angry shade of red once she began to speak so freely. “It does a lot of fun things, like spitting out demons and raining hellfire on us...”

 

“I object! I insist she be taken to Val Royeaux immediately! I refuse to allow this criminal to be taken back to the scene of the crime and-”

 

Cassandra held up a hand. “Leliana, what are our options?”

 

“Excuse me, your only option is to obey the chain of-”

 

“There is no chain of command anymore, Chancellor,” Leliana said smoothly, and then spoke like she hadn’t heard him interrupt. She kept her eyes on Cassandra, ignoring the noises of protest that the Chancellor was making. “We sent some scouts into the mountain pass to the temple. They have not returned.”

 

“They are dead, then, and that route is unsafe.”

 

“Perhaps not for you,” Leliana said, turning to survey their small group. Margol almost shivered when the redhead’s eyes passed over her; she felt like now Leliana would know all of her secrets just by glancing at her. “There might still be a chance the scouting party is alive and awaiting rescue.”

 

“We cannot afford to delay,” Cassandra said impatiently. “If we stand with the soldiers, our path is direct once the battle is over. The prisoner has been able to seal any rifts we have come across… she could be useful to Commander Cullen during the fight.”

 

Margol shifted. “Whichever one you want to choose, we should probably choose it quickly,” she said, nodding toward the Breach in the sky. “That thing’s not getting any smaller.”

 

Cassandra turned to Margol thoughtfully, looking as if she had almost forgotten the rogue was there. “What do… what do you think?” she asked. “Which route would you take?”

 

“Me? I’m the prisoner, remember? Are you okay? Did you get your head hit in that last battle?” Margol questioned, looking to Leliana incredulously. But Leliana said nothing, merely looked curious as she awaited Margol’s answer. “Why are you asking me?”

 

“You do have the mark,” Solas said quietly. “It is much your fight as it is ours.”

 

“Hey, just enjoy the input,” Varric advised. “I’ve been here for weeks and nobody’s asked me for my opinion on anything yet. Savor it while you can because… well, you might be dead or in chains after all this is over.”

 

“I…” she faltered, but suddenly the image of her father came into her head. Bann Trevelyan was a bushy-bearded man who had kind brown eyes, but he always seemed to do the right thing. Margol suddenly wished he was there with her, telling her what the best plan was. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palm. “This mountain path, what’s it like?”

 

Cassandra’s eyebrows raised at Margol’s sudden confident voice, but said nothing.

 

“It’s through some old ruins. Ladders, caves, that sort of thing,” Leliana supplied. “I believe there are enough hiding places that the scouts were simply delayed and are still alive. We cannot spare the manpower to attempt a rescue, so if you do not take the path…”

 

“If I don’t take it, they’re dead?” Margol guessed, biting her lip slightly as she thought. Scouting parties were small, quick, not built for fighting their way in and out of places. Soldiers, on the other hand, were usually well-trained… they would have a better chance of surviving any assault.

 

“Well?” Cassandra pressed.

 

“We’ll take the mountain path, then. Your soldiers will be better equipped to handle the demons. If there’s any chance that scouting party might be alive, awaiting rescue, I think we should take the path,” Margol said. Leliana nodded, reaching to snatch a map from one of the tables and hand it to Margol. As she unrolled it, she saw just how long the mountain path was. “Is this going to be fast enough?”

 

“There are less demons this way,” Cassandra said, looking displeased at Margol’s choice. She said nothing about it, though, and only unsheathed her sword and raised her shield. “Let us waste no time, then.”

 

They were off, ignoring the loud protests of the Chancellor, who was still trying to butt his way into their conversation. He seemed to be trying to follow the group through the other gate, too, but Leliana held his sleeve with a strong grasp.

 

“So…” Margol said as they began to climb a wooden ladder. “That guy seems like he really wants me dead.”

 

“A sentiment shared by many,” Cassandra said bluntly, which made Varric chuckle as he began to climb the ladder behind Margol. “As I said, there were a handful who thought they would take justice into their own hands and kill you while you were unconscious.”

 

“Right. So if I don’t get killed by some demon or die while trying to seal this Breach thing…”

 

“A regular person will try to do you in! Wonderful, isn’t it?” Varric said cheerfully as they entered the ruins that ran along the mountain path. A few demons shimmered in from the shadows and Margol’s green mark sparked in the darkness. “At least that thing lets us know when demons are around.”

 

There were only two demons, hardly enough to make the four of them break a sweat. Margol found she was now a bit used to them; she no longer gaped at their forms or was scared of being touched by them or touching them. They could be killed, just like anything else.

 

“Does it hurt?” Solas asked once the casual battle was over. “I placed protective wards around it so it should not spread, but I was unsure about any numbing spells. I suppose you would need both hands for combat.”

 

“Ideally, yes,” Margol said, tucking her blades into their sheaths on her back. The small group ventured on into the dark and damp ruins, Varric and Cassandra carrying torches. “It doesn’t… hurt exactly. It just feels… no, it doesn’t hurt.”

 

“Very eloquent,” Varric said sarcastically, but with a grin on his face. “Do you mind if I ask you a couple questions while we’re walking? You know, just in case I need a companion novel to Champion of Kirkwall.”

 

“Varric, we do not have time for this. We are supposed to be focusing on-” Cassandra began, tongue clicking impatiently.

 

“Seeker, don’t you want to question your prisoner now that she’s conscious?” he asked. “Know why she was at the Conclave in the first place? You need this information. If she dies at the Breach, you’re never going to know anything more besides the fact that she’s a Trevelyan.”

 

Cassandra frowned at Varric, glancing from the dwarf and then back to Margol. “Fine, Varric,” she said finally, sounding irritated at herself that he had been able to bait her so easily. “Proceed if you must.”

 

“Good,” he said, grinning over at Margol. “Knew you’d see it my way.”

 

“Alright,” Margol said as they walked along some slimy, wet stones. “What do you want to know?”

 

“You’re from Ostwick. Daughter of a bann. What the heck were you doing at the Conclave, anyway?”

 

“That’s not a very exciting question,” Margol said, disappointed. Solas chuckled softly to the rear of the group. “My family’s very involved with the Chantry. They wanted to send a representative of the family to the Conclave. I kind of drew the short straw.”

 

“And it’s getting shorter by the minute, huh?” Varric asked, motioning to her hand which was beginning to faintly glow again.

 

“Exactly,” Margol agreed with a sigh, drawing her daggers from their sheaths. “Though it could be shorter. I could be dead back with everyone else at the Conclave.”

 

“You’re an optimist,” Solas stated as they lingered near him, watching his hands move in a flurry as he began to cast protective barriers on the party. It was strange how in such a short amount of time, they had already grown accustomed to letting Solas cast his spells before entering battle.

 

Margol shrugged as they rounded a corner, her hand spitting sparks and little green licks of flame. “I mean, I’m probably going to be dead by the end of this day, so I figured I might as well try to not completely hate the rest of my life.”

 

Cassandra grunted as she whirled, kicking a demon squarely in the chest and sending it flying to the ground. “A commendable attitude,” she yelled over the noise of squealing enemies. “I’m glad you were not resistant to helping us.”

 

“I’m still not completely convinced I’m not dreaming and I think this hand-scar-mark is probably skewing my judgment, but… you’re welcome,” Margol said, wiping the sweat from her brow. Her shoulders ached as she lunged forward, sticking her daggers into one of the demons, who screamed one final time before falling to the stony ruin floor. “I hate to sound like a five year old, but are we almost there yet?”

 

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “You are the one with the map.”

 

“You’re also the one with an open head wound,” Varric said, pointing to her temple, which had been struck by a dying demon during her first fight with the dwarf. “Solas?”

 

Margol lifted her hand to her head, feeling something warm and sticky cascading down her cheek. Apparently the wound she had sustained during her initial fight with Solas and Varric had reopened again. “I’m fine,” she said, wiping her bloody hand on her clothes. “We should keep going.”

 

“Yeah, well, we’re keeping an eye on you. Don’t go fainting on us or anything,” Varric warned. “Don’t forget we need that hand of yours. If you’re unconscious, I think the Seeker over here might just cut it off and bring it with her.”

 

“And then wear around her neck like a pendant?” Margol suggested with a laugh, accepting a handkerchief that Solas produced from… somewhere. She wiped the blood off of her face, taking a second to pass it over the rest of her face. “Should have kept the blood. Maybe all the demons would be scared of my grimy face and would just run back into the Fade.”

 

Varric laughed lightly, then gestured to her face. “Didn’t notice those scars before.”

 

“Varric, we need to move. Everyone, we need to move,” Cassandra reminded them with an impatient huff, grabbing her torch and motioning for them to continue through the ruins. “Every second we waste is a second that someone is dying for us.”

 

“I’m going, I’m going,” Varric said, the trace of laughter in his voice was gone. His face set into a steely grim expression and they did not speak anymore as they progressed through the ruined pathway.

 

It turned out that the scouting party had survived. Their leader yelled out in surprise as she saw the Seeker and the small group of scouts leapt into action, fighting a small herd of demons in tandem with Cassandra’s own ragtag group.

 

“Thank you, thank you,” the woman kept saying. “I thought no one would come for us.”

 

“It was the prisoner’s - Margol’s - idea,” Cassandra said lightly, then pointed to the ruins through which they had come. “The way back to the forward camp should be clear… at least for the moment. I suggest you gather your wounded and head that way quickly.”

 

“Yes, Lady Cassandra,” the woman said, pulling a wounded scout to his feet. “And thank you… Margol. I pray you will be able to heal the sky. Maker watch over you!”

 

And then she was gone, the rest of her group either limping behind or supporting one another as they began the long crawl back to the camp.  

 

They traveled along in silence, which became tense as they finally approached the edge of the Conclave sight. Charred bodies littered the ground, their faces twisted into charcoal screams. Margol’s heart thrummed strongly in her chest as she looked upon the thin, burnt bodies. Some were still smoking.

 

“This is where we found you,” Cassandra said quietly. “This is where you walked out of the Fade.”

 

“I don’t… I don’t remember any of this,” Margol said, feeling her eyes beginning to prick. If anyone noticed, they said nothing, or perhaps thought it was because of the smoky air. “I don’t remember… anyone.”

 

“They said there was a woman behind you in the fade,” Varric said as they walked, careful to not tread upon any of the fallen. Sooty dust rose with each crunchy step. “You didn’t come here with anyone?”

 

“A woman? No, I…” Margol’s mind flashed. Green light, dark ground, running. She had to get away, had to make it out, needed to be free - “I remember running. And then… I woke up in the dungeon.”

 

“Hmm,” Solas said thoughtfully. If he had any breakthrough with her story, he said nothing.

 

They rounded a corner of the ruined site, coming face to face with Leliana. “Cassandra! You made it. We thought you might… well. You are here,” Leliana said, gesturing to the archers she had lined up along the outer shell of the ruin. “The rift is still as active as ever.”

 

Margol stepped forward, craning her neck up at the hideous rip across the sky. “You want me to seal that?” she questioned. It had looked a lot smaller from way back near Haven. “How am I supposed to get up there? Do you have a plan for that?”

 

“This was the first rift to appear,” Solas said, gesturing to a glowy green rip in the air at the center of the charred ruin. “If you seal this, perhaps it will also seal the Breach.”

 

Everyone seemed to be looking at her, waiting for something. Margol turned, green eyes resting upon Cassandra’s face. “Well,” Margol said finally. “I suppose it’s the best idea we have. I’ll try my best.”

 

“For the sake of Thedas, I hope your best is enough,” Leliana said simply. “My archers await your orders, Cassandra.”

 

“Tell them to stay pointed at the rift,” Cassandra said. “Shoot anything that comes out.”

 

Leliana gave a nod, then jogged off to spread the orders. Cassandra turned to the small group, looking for Varric to Solas and then finally to Margol. “Well,” she said a bit awkwardly. “Here we are. I do not know what will emerge from the Breach, nor do I know if you will survive. Or if any of us will.”

 

“Aw,” Margol said with a tense smile. “So this might be goodbye. And to think, I didn’t even get you anything. But, hey, if I do die - I’m giving you permission to cut off my hand and make it into a necklace. One final gift as a symbol of our deep and lasting friendship.”

 

Varric chuckled at Cassandra’s expression. “I really hope you survive, if only to keep the Seeker’s face looking like that.”

 

“I try to say one nice thing,” Cassandra sniffed as they began their journey down into the center of the ruined temple. “And suddenly everyone feels the need to be funny.”

 

“Watch your step,” Solas warned suddenly, gesturing to what looked like a giant, glowing crystal.

 

Margol looked upon the tall crystal, which was thrumming with light and emitted heat. “What is that?” she questioned in awe, moving to get a closer look.

 

Varric’s hand shot out to grab Margol’s sleeve. “No! Don’t touch it. Cassandra, this is… this is red lyrium.”

 

“I see that, Varric.”

 

“But what’s it doing here?” he asked incredulously, carefully hopping over a small crystal that was jutting out of the ground as they walked.

 

Solas inspected the crystal closely, raising his hand near it but never quite making contact. “If there was lyrium underneath the temple originally, perhaps the Breach has reached it, corrupting it into red lyrium.”

 

“What’s red lyrium?” Margol asked as they began walking down the steps.

 

“It’s evil. I’ll explain later if I have the chance, just-” Varric was cut off by a loud, booming voice. The fine hair on the back of Margol’s neck stood up and goosebumps began to raise along her forearms.

 

“Who is that?” Margol asked, her eyes searching for a source of the voice. “Is that coming from the rift?”

 

Another voice joined the first, this one a woman who was crying out for assistance. “That is Divine Justinia!”

 

Margol listened, watching the tear. It shimmered and shook and she could make out… faces? Yes, she could make out faces and then a scene played in her head, a woman captured and screaming for help, a terrible monster shouting, Margol was watching herself ask what was happening and then she could see nothing except for green light and-

 

The vision stopped. Cassandra turned to Margol, looking shocked with wide eyes. “That was you! The Divine called out for your help! She warned you, told you to leave her… but who was the other voice? What happened?”

 

“I - I don’t remember!” Margol stammered. “What was that? A vision? Did anyone else-”

 

“We all saw it,” Solas confirmed, looking up at the rift. The scene was replaying in the sliver of green light, though this time there was no more sound. He gestured to Margol’s left hand, which had green flames jumping around it. “This rift was the first. Perhaps it is projecting memories of what occurred.”

 

“Why aren’t things falling out of it?” Varric asked, holding his crossbow defensively. “Demons, I mean.”

 

“It is closed,” the elven mage said, his eyes never leaving the rift. Green flames reflected in his pupils as he watched, his skin a ghostly green in the light. “But it’s not sealed. You could use your mark to open it and then properly seal it once and for all.”

 

“I can do that?” she questioned quietly, flexing her left hand. She stared at her palm, which had a peculiar fiery itching sensation. She looked up only to find that everyone was looking at her. “I’ll try.”

 

“We must reseal the rift as soon as we are able,” Solas warned. “Demons will sense that another path into our world has opened. We must be ready for whatever comes and we must take care of them before Margol is able to reseal the tear.”

 

“Okay. Open the rift, kill the demons, seal the rift. Got it,” Margol said, reaching for her back to pull her daggers from their sheaths. She bounced on the balls of her feet, raising an eyebrow at the rest of her party. “Anything else?”

 

“Try not to die,” Varric advised.

  
A smile curved across her tan face. “Naturally.”


	2. out cold

She thought she had died.

 

When she had opened the rift, a tall and wide demon had tumbled out, roaring challenges to everyone who was in the vicinity. It had some kind of lightning whip, too, which had been so fun to deal with as she had been trying to stay behind it, trying to hide in the shadows and catch it by surprise. That had been difficult without all of her equipment; her Antivan Instant Darkness Powder had apparently been confiscated while she was in the dungeons and nobody had thought to give it back.

 

Eventually, though, the demon had gone down and she was able to get a clear shot at the rift. Her palm connected with the tea, but this  time it was different - her hand hurt, beads of sweat blossomed from her face, she clenched her jaw tightly so a scream wouldn’t come out.

 

Her vision had exploded in blazingly bright green light, she had fallen to her knees and heard a scream come from someone - herself, she realized, as pitch black blobs began to ebb at the edge of her line of sight. Her body tipped forward, but before she could slam into the charred rock of the temple’s remains, a pair of hands caught her.

 

Then, nothing.

 

Now she awoke covered in sweat, covers flying off as she sat up in a… bed? It took a moment for the world to come back into focus, but yes, it was a bed. Not her bed, not her bed back in Ostwick, but at least it wasn’t the hard ground of the Chantry dungeon.

 

“Oh! You’re awake!”

 

There was a clatter as a wooden box hit the ground. Margol’s head snapped in the direction of the noise. A young elven woman dove to the ground to retrieve the supplies she had dropped. “Beg forgiveness, Herald!”

 

“Harold?” Margol questioned, putting a hand to her hair. It felt… clean? “My name is Margol.”

 

“Yes, o-of course, Lady Margol,” the elf spluttered, her hands shooting around to pick up rolling glass bottles and elfroot leaves. “That’s just what they’ve been calling you, my lady.”

 

“Why are they calling me Harold of all things?” she asked, sliding out of bed to help the elf retrieve some bottles that had rolled underneath the bed. The elf seemed surprised and a little afraid, but said nothing about Margol’s assistance. “Who is calling me that? And where am I? How long was I unconscious?”

 

“You’re in Haven, my lady,” the elf explained, gently taking a bottle from Margol’s fingers. “You’ve been unconscious for two - no, three - days… they’re calling you the - the Herald of Andraste. They say you’ve been sent by Andraste herself to help us heal the sky!”

 

Once all of the supplies had been packed up, Margol sat on the edge of her bed, looking confused. “First they wanted to kill me and now they’re saying I’ve been sent by Andraste herself? Maker, these people need to make up their minds. But you said I helped heal the sky - was the Breach closed?”

 

“I - I’m not sure,” the elf stammered, standing and bowing slightly as she started to retreat back to the front door. “I was told to send you to Lady Cassandra as soon as you awakened. She said, ‘at once’! She’s waiting for you in the Chantry.”

 

Margol was very tempted to sink back into her bed and to bribe this elf to say she hadn’t woken up yet. Her body ached. Her hand still tingled, like an appendage that was beginning to fall asleep. “Very well,” she decided finally with a heavy sigh. “I’m going.”

 

The elf nodded fervently, squeaking out a final “at once!” before leaving.

 

Once she was alone, Margol stood, her legs feeling a little like jelly. A basin full of clean water had been left on a table next to the bed. She used it to wash her face and hands, patting her face dry with a towel that was neatly folded on the table.  There was a simple hand mirror on a dresser to the right and she nearly groaned when she lifted it.

 

Her temple was a sickly purple-green. It was hard to imagine how it must have looked three days ago when she had first been brought back to Haven. At least all of the dried blood was gone and her white-blond hair was clean; she imagined after the ordeal at the charcoal-y temple  it must have been a light shade of gray. Someone had braided it back away from her face.

 

“Yikes,” she muttered, turning and looking at herself some more. She had dark circles beneath her eyes. They almost looked like bruises, but she knew they were just because she felt exhausted. She put the mirror back down, unwilling to find any more nasty surprises.

 

Margol stretched, kneeling to open a chest that had been shoved underneath one of the windows in the small house. She gasped as the sunlight caught a glitter of gold. Inside of the chest was perhaps the most beautiful set of armor she had ever seen. The leather had been bleached white and carefully stitched together to resemble dragon scales. Part of the arms were covered with golden metal scales that glimmered in the sun as she lifted the armor to get a better look at it.

 

Yes, it had been designed to bring a dragon to mind. It had to be intentional. The scaling pattern and the way the armor dipped in the back, resembling a dragon’s long tail, was too spot-on to be an accident or an afterthought. Margol glanced at the door.

 

Was this for her to wear? Or did it belong to the person who usually stayed in the house? She wished the elven woman had stayed longer. She could have asked her if she could have worn it.

 

Margol’s fingers clutched the armor and she felt suddenly guilty. “No, Margol, it’s not yours,” she told herself, willing her fingers to put the armor back into the chest. She didn’t move. “It’s not yours.”

 

Twenty minutes later she stood, buckling the last clasps of the armor and turning around appreciatively. It was a medium-weight armor, light enough for her to move in but still heavy enough to provide protection. It fit like a dream.

 

She took a breath, deciding that she would wear it on her trip to the Chantry. Surely Cassandra would know if it was for her or not… yes, that was a good plan. Margol would just take a trip to the Chantry and ask Cassandra. If the Seeker told her to take it off, she could come back. Nobody would see. Nobody would know any difference.

 

Except that when she opened the door, she found that she had been wrong. Everybody would know. Everybody would see. Because it seemed like everybody was now lined up outside her door, staring at her or kneeling, their fists clapped over their hearts in a symbol of respect.

 

Her heart thrummed in her chest as she walked through the clear pathway they had formed.

 

“That’s her,” someone whispered. “That’s the Herald of Andraste.”

 

“Her hand’s not glowy,” someone else said, sounding disappointed. “I thought it was glowy.”

 

Margol moved fast, nearly jogging as she made her way to the Chantry. The wooden doors were heavy; she struggled to open them. Once she got inside, shutting the doors firmly behind her, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight.

 

“Ah, you are awake,” Cassandra said, moving from an alcove where she had been sitting on a chair, reading a piece of parchment. “Good.”

 

“Yes. Also, I was wondering if this-” she gestured to the set of armor she was wearing, suddenly feeling rather embarrassed at her lack of self-control. “I found it in the house. If I shouldn’t be wearing it-”

 

“Of course you should be,” Cassandra said, looking at Margol with steady eyes. “If we did not intend for you to wear it, we wouldn’t have left it in the house. We thought it would be important for the people to see you looking clean and fit for the title of Herald.”

 

They walked now, down the long hallway of the Chantry. Some of the people inside stopped and looked as they walked, but nothing was said to the pair. “What’s going on with that title, anyway? Herald of Andraste? What does that mean?”

 

“The figure that people saw behind you in the fade when you came to us - people are saying it was Andraste herself. They believe you have been chosen to help our cause, to help seal the Breach.”

 

“But I tried sealing the Breach. It didn’t work,” Margol said slowly. “It’s not gone, right? What else am I supposed to do?”

 

“That… depends.”

 

“Depends on what?”

 

Cassandra sighed, stopping before a wooden door at one end of the Chantry. “On whether or not you accept our offer. Now, come, and stop asking so many questions,” she said, pulling the door open and gesturing for Margol to go inside. “Just listen.”

 

Margol stepped into what looked like a large meeting room. There was a table with a map spread on it, with markers put here and there. The room had more people in it than she had expected, most of which she did not recognize.

 

A dark-skinned woman with a clipboard turned as she entered, smiling encouragingly. Margol was envious of her golden sleeves on her shirt; clearly, this woman was no warrior. “Herald… Trevelyan, is it?” she asked, her accent Antivan. “I am Josephine Montilyet. Ambassador for the… well, that will come later.”

 

Margol gave her a nod of recognition, Cassandra coming to stand next to the table. “You know Leliana,” Cassandra said, gesturing to the redhead with a wave of her hand.

 

“Pleased to see you alive and well, Herald.  My post here deals with delicate information and manipulation of-”

 

“She’s our spymaster,” Cassandra said curtly. Leliana’s lips pursed.

 

“Always so tactful, Cassandra,” she murmured, but Cassandra had already moved on to motion to the last person in the meeting room.

 

He wasn’t as finely dressed as Josephine was, but he was definitely fit for combat. Not sneaky, rogue-based combat like Leliana’s gear indicated, but he looked like a warrior. “Cullen Rutherford,” he said with a small nod of his head. Margol noticed a scar on his lip as he spoke. “Commander of our...  limited troops.”

 

“Nice to meet you all,” Margol said mechanically, her manners automatic. She looked at everyone in the room, suddenly suspicious. “And… why are you all here? Is this my trial?”

 

“Goodness, no!” Josephine said, looking shocked. “Er, no. We.. Cassandra?”

 

“We are reinstating the Inquisition.”

 

Margol laughed. “What?” she asked incredulously, still looking amused. “How? Why?”

 

“You are familiar with it, then?” Cassandra asked, placing a heavy-looking book down in the middle of the map on the table.

 

“Of course I’m familiar with it,” Margol said breezily. You didn’t grow up in a house with such strong connections to the Chantry without learning all about it, after all. “Why are you looking to reinstate it? And why am I here? Am I allowed to go home or am I supposed to be shipped off for trial somewhere?”

 

“The Chantry is in shambles after Divine Justinia’s death,” Leliana explained. “Templars and mages are at each other’s throats. On top of all of this, the threat of the sky still looms over us all. We are resurrecting the Inquisition to try and repair the world before it is too late.”

 

“That’s a big task,” Margol said, looking down at the map that was spread across the table. There were several markers with little red flags attached to them. When she looked up, everyone seemed to be looking at her expectantly.

 

“It is a big task,” Leliana agreed quietly, stepping closer to Margol. “One that needs to be unified under a single leader.”

 

“And who better to be that leader than the one they are calling the Herald of Andraste?” Cassandra asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

Margol’s stomach knotted and she had to stop herself from nervously laughing again. “You’re… joking? No, you’re not joking,” she decided, looking upon all four serious faces in the small meeting room. “Why don’t you just make Cassandra the… leader? Or Leliana? Why do you want me to be the - the… Inquisitor?”

 

“It would look like a conflict of interest,” Cullen explained, his hand on the hilt of his sword. It looked like it was a habit. “Leliana was the left hand of the Divine; Cassandra, the right. We need someone else to be the face of the Inquisition, someone the people already believe in.”

 

“I’m pretty sure people only believe in trying to assassinate me,” Margol said uneasily. “Look, I’m sure I’ve already pissed enough people off by being called the Herald of Andraste. I don’t want to give anyone another reason to want my head on a pike.”

 

“We can protect you from assassinations-”

 

“I just want to go home,” Margol said firmly, shaking her head as her gaze locked on the thick book marked with the symbol of the Inquisition. “I didn’t ask for any of this, you know? Didn’t ask for the glowy hand, didn’t ask for the magic. Didn’t ask to be the one to survive the Conclave.”

 

They all looked at her with various expressions on their face, but none spoke.

 

She took a breath. “I’ll put the armor back and then I’m heading back to Ostwick. If your people want to give me a trial, that’s where they can arrest me. But I’m done here.”

 

Margol turned, then, and headed out the heavy door of the meeting room. To her surprise, no one tried to stop her. She had half expected Cassandra to catch her arm and execute her right there on the spot. Apparently that wasn’t their plan, then.

 

What was their plan? She wondered as she walked down the Chantry’s long entry hall. They had to be pretty desperate to ask her of all people to lead their organization. They knew next to nothing about her. Well… Leliana was their spymaster, Cassandra had said, so perhaps in the three days she had been unconscious, Leliana had been gathering information.

 

Her past wasn’t very impressive; the middle daughter of a Bann who had six children. Some of her siblings were involved with the Chantry, some voluntarily and some because it was expected. One of her brothers was a mage at the Ostwick Circle of Magic. But Margol herself didn’t feel all that connected to the Chantry and she stifled a small laugh; she had been asked to lead the Inquisition, something that in the past was connected to the Chantry.

 

What would she say when she returned home? Hello, mother and father. I was just held as a prisoner in that Conclave where everyone died except for me. I have this magic glowing mark on me. I sure hope it gets better. I also sure hope that the sky fixes itself because I sure as hell wasn’t going to get involved…

 

“Ahhhh,” she groaned as she lifted up a hand to push open the front door of the Chantry.

 

Just keep going. Push the door open. Grab your stuff. Head back home.

 

Margol didn’t move. Her left hand was pressed flush against the wooden door and she had every mind to open the door, to flee back to Ostwick and enjoy whatever time was left in the world. “Agh,” she groaned again, this time pulling her hand from the door and reluctantly marching back to the meeting room.

 

She heard arguing as she approached.

 

“I can’t believe you thought it would be a good idea to ask the prisoner-”

 

“She is innocent, Cullen, you did not hear the voices at the Temple-”

 

“Perhaps we could try to locate Hawke again, or Warden Aeducan-”

 

“We have tried, Josie, and-”

 

She didn’t knock, merely opened the door and cleared her throat loudly. Everyone turned, only Leliana looking unsurprised at her return. “I’ll help,” she said finally, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. “Haven’t got anything better to do, I guess.”

  
“That’s the spirit,” Cassandra said dryly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anybody catch the Harry Potter reference? ;)


	3. hunt

Everyone always wanted to talk to her; that was something Margol figured out quickly. Whether it was an official, important question from one of her advisers or a drunken, slurred half-sentence from one of the tavern patrons, someone was always bothering her.

 

Even when she retreated by to her quarters, back to the little wooden house she had initially woken up in, people still came by. They knocked, wanting to ask her questions. A new mother even wanted her to place her marked hand upon her small babe’s head. Margol had spluttered that she didn’t think it was a good idea yet, not when her mark had so many unknowns.

 

A lot of the time, Margol went to hide in Josephine’s office. The ambassador didn’t seem bothered by her presence; in fact, sometimes Josephine would use Margol to her advantage.

 

“I am so sorry, your worship, but I am in the middle of an important meeting with the Inquisitor. Can it wait?” Josephine would ask the nobles she didn’t particularly want to talk to. If she did want to talk to someone, she would just ask Margol to wait outside until their meeting was over.

 

Now was one of those times; Josephine was _still_ in a meeting with Leliana.

 

Margol sighed as she leaned against the wall outside of Josephine’s office.

 

“Feeling a bit overwhelmed, are we?”

 

She turned, seeing Mother Giselle approach. The older woman had a smile on her face. “Yes,” Margol admitted, shoving herself off of the wall. “I’ve never had this many people want to talk to me before. And a lot of them have… questions. Questions that I don’t have answers to.”

 

“I imagine that can be frustrating, certainly,” the Mother said thoughtfully. “You have the weight of the world upon your shoulders. And such small, young shoulders they are. It is wrong for so many to expect you to instantly quell their needs. The Inquisition is working, but they cannot reach everything at once.”

 

“No,” Margol admitted.

 

“I saw we have gained some allies,” Mother Giselle said suddenly, making Margol look up from the stone flooring she had been absently gazing at. “Still, we are low in other areas. Supplies, for one.”

 

The Mother looked at her expectantly.

 

“Er, what?”

 

Giselle sighed. “Inquisitor, I was wondering if you would, perhaps, take some time out to go find some more elfroot for me. The villagers have sought refuge here at Haven and we do not have enough in stock to soothe their ailments. I have heard from Adan that some grows in the hills just outside of Haven. I would venture there myself, but-”

 

“No, no,” Margol said quickly, straightening as the woman’s words truly reached Margol’s ears. “I understand. I would gladly gather some elfroot for you, Mother Giselle.”

 

Twenty minutes later she emerged from her house dressed in her lightest leather armor, not the fancy white-bleached armor she wore on Inquisition excursions, but a plain brown set. She hesitated a moment, but eventually decided to leave her daggers in her home and instead strapped her bow on her back.

 

As she headed down the gentle slope to the Haven’s gate, she saw a messenger in the distance, who had piles upon piles of paperwork in his arms.

 

“Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered, sure that the paperwork was for her. Realistically, it could also be for Cullen or Cassandra, both located outside of Haven’s main gate, but Margol had a prickly feeling in her stomach that made her adamant the messenger was headed for her.

 

The Inquisitor darted back to the space behind her house, swinging her leg up on a scraggly young tree that had persistently been growing in the small space. The tree was twisted and shook as she climbed, protesting her weight, but she made it high enough to step on the roof of her house.

 

Margol waited from her spot, peeking over the ridge of the roof to watch the messenger approach her house. He knocked on the door - one, two, three times. Eventually he grew impatient, turning and heading back up the path to the Chantry.

 

She smiled, then, and leapt from the corner of her roof onto the high stone fence that ran parallel to the roof’s edge. It was supposed to serve as means to keep enemies out, but today she was using it as an access point to sneak away.

 

Getting down off of the wall was easier than she thought it would be. There was a series of large boulders and an impressively tall evergreen tree growing right near the high fence; Margol wondered if they shouldn’t have better security. If an assassin really wanted to, they could simply walk at night and climb up the tree and hop over into Haven, gate or no.

 

She decided it could wait. Margol jumped from the lowest branch of the tree, crunching snow underfoot as she began to trek away from Haven.

 

Adan had been right; there was elfroot everywhere, along with iron ore deposits and even an old logging station. The elfroot was a little tricky to find, as some of it was still buried beneath the freshly fallen snow and only a leaf or two was poking out. She only had to dig a little before the resilient stalk would poke up from the snow, happy to finally be free from the icy sheet of snow.

 

It was around the fourth or fifth harvest of elfroot that Margol became aware that she was being followed.

 

The person following her wasn’t a rogue. No, he was definitely too damn clumsy and heavy-footed for that. He wasn’t very good at hiding, either; once, she had slowly glanced over her shoulder while faking a yawn and he had only just managed to duck behind a thick bush by the time she had glanced back.

 

He didn’t seem to have any weapons with him. He also looked slightly familiar, which meant she had probably seen him around. Training with Cullen, maybe? Or was he one of Cassandra’s men?

 

Margol decided it was about time that she found out just who this would-be follower was. She stood atop a small hill, her hands on her hips as she looked down to the plain below. There were many trees in the small valley… along with many large boulders that were probably the result of a landslide.

 

She rolled her shoulders, drew her bow like she had seen some kind of game dart from hiding, and ran down the small slope to the valley below. The follower wouldn’t come after her instantly; he’d probably wait a few seconds before pursuing her. She used this small window of time to leap from boulder to boulder, unwilling to leave any footprints in the snow. Eventually Margol leapt onto the trunk of a tree and hauled herself up into its branches quickly.

 

Then, she waited.

 

One, two, three. Four, five, six. Seven, eight. Nine. Ten seconds passed. The man began to make the careful descent down into the valley. Occasionally he slipped a little on the icy path, but eventually he made his way down to just beneath her tree.

 

His head whirled wildly from left to right, clearly searching. He even looked upon the ground, no doubtedly searching for footprints that he would not find since she had leapt from boulder to boulder. She could hear him sigh even from her perch in the tree.

 

The man turned to head back to Haven.

 

Margol made her move.

 

She was only two or three yards above him in the tree, but she made sure to lower herself before she launched herself from the tree, tackling him sideways. The man yelled in surprise as his face went into the snow, the landing making a soft whumpf sound.

 

“Hello,” she said cheerfully, yanking his arms back. He made a hissing noise as her knee went into the space between his shoulderblades. “How are you today?”

 

“Hullo, Inquisitor,” he said glumly. “Doin’ fine, thanks.”

 

“I’d like to ask you a couple of questions, if I could. Well, actually, no. I’m going to ask you them and you’re going to answer because I have my knee in your back and you don’t really have a choice.”

 

“Eh, righ’,” he agreed. “Can you loosen up your hold on my arm, though? Hurtin’ somethin’ fierce.”

 

“Sure, sure,” she said, giving him a little slack in his arms while being certain to keep her knee pressed hard. “Now, onto the questions. Who the hell are you?”

 

“I’m Ray, ma’am.”

 

“Alright. And why are you following me, Ray?”

 

He muttered something into the snow that sounded like a curse word. She pulled back on his arms and he yelped. “Commander’s orders, ma’am!” he said, lifting his mouth from the snow.

 

“Commander… Cullen? Ordered you to follow me?” she asked, releasing her hold on his arms. Margol carefully stood, then helped Ray get to his feet. He was younger than she thought; perhaps only 20 or so, and it looked like he was still struggling to grow any kind of facial hair. “Why?”

 

“Didn’t say,” Ray shrugged, then pointed to the bow on her back. “Thought you used twin daggers. Ma’am.”

 

“I do,” she said, tugging the bow loose from its holder. She held it out to Ray, who took it and slowly turned it in his hands. “Don’t call me ma’am, thanks. It’s Margol. And I brought the bow because I thought I might see some wild rabbits out here.”

 

“Ah,” he said thoughtfully. “I always wanted to do some huntin’. Never seemed to be any good at it.”

 

“Probably because you’re so loud,” Margol said with a grin, then mimicked him walking on the snow. She made sure to make exaggerated crunch crunch crunch noises. “If I hadn’t seen you, I would have heard you.”

 

“How do I be quiet, then?” he asked. His eyes were so large, so clear and honest that she could do nothing but nod and begin to tell him ways to minimize noise in the snow. The pair spent the next hour trading secrets. He taught her how to insulate her boots better and taught her about what kind of oils she could put on her clothes to make them repel water. She learned he had always been volunteering for one army or another since he was fifteen, so he knew a lot about how to make cheap equipment last longer.

 

“Ack, the sun is settin’,” he said, standing from where he had been sitting on a fallen log. “Commander’s probably wondering where I am.”

 

“The Commander’s probably wondering if I killed you and ran away, deserting the Inquisition,” she corrected, stretching. “That’s why he wanted you to follow me, right?”

 

“Ahh, I…” Ray looked awkward. “I was supposed to run back and tell him if you got too far away.”

 

Margol shrugged. “Ah, well…” she trailed off. “We should head back.”

 

They walked in mostly silence then. Margol noticed that as they walked back, Ray seemed to put effort into making himself quieter and using the tips she had given him. He was careful to avoid twigs and branches as they walked, lest he crack them with his weight and make more noise. She smiled at his sincerity. Nobody had ever wanted her to teach them something before.

 

She smiled again as she saw the look on Cullen’s face when they walked into his training area.

 

“Commander! Hello,” she said cheerfully. Perhaps too cheerfully; Ray winced and Cullen squinted suspiciously at her. “Look who I met while I was out gathering elfroot for Mother Giselle. This is one of your recruits, right?”

 

“Yes, he is,” Cullen said, snapping his fingers at Ray. “The other recruits are eating. Go join them. _Now_.”

 

Ray gave a nod, then glanced at Margol before jogging off to where the other recruits were standing in a line, waiting to have some stew spooned into a bowl for them.

 

“So, he knows a lot about how to improve gear,” she said finally, when it was clear Cullen wasn’t going to say anything. He looked awkward and a bit guilty, she’d give him that. “You should use him. Told me how to insulate my boots better for winter.”

 

“Yes, I have noticed some of the other recruits going to him when they had an issue with their armor,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

 

“Mhmm.”

 

“Right.”

 

“So, are you going to tell me why you think I’m going to desert you all and run for the hills?” Margol asked finally, her voice unwavering as she spoke. And why should she be embarrassed to bring it up? Cullen was the one who didn’t trust her, even after she had attempted to heal the hole in the sky and risked her life a thousand times to do one thing or another for the Inquisition.

 

“I… yes,” he pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “I was under the impression that you reluctantly served the Inquisition. I was concerned you might change your mind about being here.”

 

Margol bristled. “That was ignorant of you,” she said, lifting a hand to point at the stables. Master Dennet was brushing down the shiny coat of a strong mount. “Do you see those horses? Do you know how they got here? I went and got them. Myself. I went and spoke to Master Dennet. I killed the wolves that were bothering the farmers. I scouted the areas where he wanted watch towers to be built.”

 

Cullen looked very uncomfortable. He shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Yes, I realize you have done a great deal. I was-”

 

“Ignorant,” she said, interrupting him with a wave of her hand. “You were ignorant. Do you see that armor your recruits are wearing? It’s not good enough yet, but it’s ten times better than what it used to be. Do you know who mined every ounce of the iron ore that went into the requisition that improved their armor? It was me.”

 

“Inquisitor, I-”

 

“Do you ever go to the tavern inside of the walls, Commander?”

 

“What? No, I-”

 

“No, that’s right, you don’t,” Margol said, very tempted to poke him in the chest with her finger. But she did not; she stayed stationary, an irritated look upon her face. “Because if you did, you would have seen me there. Buying them drinks, listening to their stories, hearing their complaints and trying to do something to fix it. If you knew-”

 

Cullen finally seemed to snap. “ _Inquisitor_!” He used the voice that he normally reserved for his recruits or topics he was particularly passionate about. Her mouth closed instantly. “I am very aware of how many seemingly insignificant, small jobs you have done for the Inquisition. It is precisely _because_ of those small jobs that I was worried about you changing your mind. Perhaps you envisioned battles and glory, not skulking around the Hinterlands trying to find a dead man’s ring for his grieving widow.”

 

Margol opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it. Cullen was keeping his gaze on her, clearly waiting for a reply. “Oh,” she said finally, uncharacteristically quiet. She felt a flush creep up her pale cheeks. “I… okay.”

 

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes,” he agreed, looking less awkward and perhaps a little… triumphant? Cullen cocked his head toward where the recruits were sitting on benches, digging into bowls full of stew. “I need to get back to my troops. Have a good night, Inquisitor.”

 

He was off, then, snowflakes just beginning to fall and collect on his dark fur collar. Margol watched him leave before she turned on her foot, walking through Haven’s gates. She didn’t know precisely where she was going, but she found herself ending up at the Chantry anyway.

 

This was a good destination, she supposed, because it meant she could hand off her bag of carefully gathered elfroot to Mother Giselle herself.

 

If the Mother noticed that Margol was upset, she did not comment. She merely nodded her head a little, carefully taking the slightly-damp sack from the Inquisitor. “Thank you, Inquisitor,” she said. “If you ever feel overwhelmed again, we could always use more, surely.”

 

Margol only nodded, then opened the door to Josephine’s office. Leliana looked up at her from her spot in a chair that had been pulled up to Josie’s desk. “My,” Leliana said, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you look upset.”

 

“Upset?” Josephine asked, her gaze going from Leliana to Margol. “Who has upset you? I _told_ Sera to-”

 

“No, it’s my own fault,” Margol admitted, her shoulders slumping as she moved to lean against an interior wall. “And it wasn’t Sera.”

 

Leliana said nothing, only watched, but Josephine spoke up. “Who, then?”

 

“Our Commander,” Margol said, rubbing her temples gently. “Though I… okay, it might have been my fault. Maybe. But he started it, really, I-”

 

“Cullen? _Cullen_ upset you?” Josephine asked incredulously. The Antivan ambassador stood from her spot behind her desk and went to pour a cup of hot tea for Margol. Handing the Inquisitor the cup (which was a fine china; much too fine to have come from Seggrit’s supplies) she returned to her seat. “You _must_ tell us the story.”

 

“I went out to get some elfroot-”

 

“Yes, about that,” Leliana said, looking amused. “Apologies for the interruption, but the next time you feel the need to scale a wall to evade my messengers, please just tell them to come back another time.”

 

“Oh,” Margol said, sulking a bit. “I didn’t know they saw me.”

 

“Of course they did. Did you think our security was that lax?” the redhead asked with a small laugh. “Please, Inquisitor. You underestimate me.”

 

“Yes, yes,” Josephine said, waving her hand impatiently. She had her elbows up on her desk, her chin cradled in her hands as she leaned toward the Inquisitor and Leliana. “Get on with the story. Er. Please, if you would.”

 

“I went out to gather some elfroot for Mother Giselle’s refugees,” Margol explained, then launched into her tale about how she had been followed by one of Cullen’s men. When her story was over, Josephine and Leliana exchanged a look. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” Josephine said quickly.

 

“What Josie means is that we are concerned about this conflict,” Leliana explained carefully. “If our people see that their own commander is questioning the loyalty of the Herald, how can we expect them to follow you and your orders?”

 

“Well, maybe their commander shouldn’t have questioned my loyalty in the first place,” Margol said, still sulking as she leaned against the wall, sipping hot tea. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“No, I… No. It was wrong of Cullen to involve one of his men in his suspicions, but it was not wrong of him to wonder, necessarily,” Leliana said. When she caught the look on Margol’s face, she sighed. “Let me explain. You were initially…. reluctant to join us. You changed your mind and you changed it quickly. Of course someone like Cullen would worry you would change your mind again, especially after doing trivial things like escorting a Druffalo back to its farm.”

 

“That’s not _trivial_ , it helps people-”

 

“ _Seemingly_ trivial, then,” Josephine said, quickly attempting to smooth over Leliana’s words. She hesitated. “Do not be angry with me, but... I understand where Cullen is coming from. You are a Trevelyan. You are of noble birth. Yet here we are, asking you to traipse around the Storm Coast going to meet some unknown mercenary. It is not exactly glamorous.”

 

“But I knew that coming in,” Margol protested. “I knew it would be hard and - well, weird - and I still wanted to do it. I still had to do it because, hey, if I don’t help seal the Breach - who the fuck else is going to do it?”

 

“Please, I was not trying to upset you, Inquisitor-”

 

Margol shrugged, setting her teacup down on Josephine’s desk. She took a breath, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “No, you… you’re right,” she said reluctantly. “I shouldn’t blame Cullen. I probably would have done the same thing if our situations were reversed. I guess I should… apologize to him.”

  
“Probably,” Leliana agreed with a small smile. “But make it short. Cullen doesn’t need to have an ego.”


	4. tavern

Cullen stood from his cot in his tent. He sat back down on it. He stood again.

 

Even from his tent outside of the walls of Haven, he could hear the music and the whoops of celebration emanating from the tavern. He knew what had happened; the Inquisitor had ventured to the Fallow Mire and rescued some of their men from an Avvar leader. Not only had she rescued the soldiers, but she had somehow also managed to recruit an Avvar that called himself Sky Watcher.

 

Cullen stood back down again. He would have asked the Inquisitor how she had managed to recruit an Avvar, but she had not spoken to him since their outburst about her being tailed as she ventured outside of Haven. That had been almost two weeks ago. Normally he would have apologized, offered some kind of peace making gift, maybe, but every time he saw her she scuttled in the opposite direction.

 

The Commander assumed that she was still angry. And why shouldn’t she be? He had basically said he thought she was too shallow to stay and complete menial Inquisition tasks, even if that wasn’t quite what he had meant.

 

He sighed, ruffling his hair with his gloved hand. A third of his troops were sleeping, the other third keeping guard, and the final third celebrating at the tavern, he supposed. Perhaps it was time that he joined them. The Inquisitor had accused him of something during their small argument - or maybe she hadn’t accused him of anything, but she had called him out on the time that he spent with his men. Or, really, there lack thereof.

 

He was a good Commander. He knew his troops liked him and respected him; they had just never seen him cut loose or join them in the tavern. He knew how much having a likeable head officer could affect morale (also, a tiny bit of him wanted to show the Inquisitor that yes, he was capable of joining his men at the tavern) so Cullen opened the flap of his tent, heading out into the cold and dark night air.

 

“Commander,” one of the troops on watch greeted him as she stood near the fire, trying to warm her hands. “Heading somewhere?”

 

“Yes, ah, to the tavern,” Cullen said with a nod, trying to ignore the look on the woman’s face. “I will return within an hour or so, before the next group needs to be awoken for their watch shift.”

 

“Very good, Commander,” the woman said. He could have swore he saw her smiling as she turned away.

 

The trek up to the tavern wasn’t long, but it was long enough to give him time to think about turning around once or twice. He eventually made it, though, and saw a dark shape standing outside of the tavern. Even though the lighting was dim, the trademark silhouette of the padded armor and beard made recognizing the Grey Warden easy.

 

“Ah! Commander Cullen!” Blackwall called cheerfully, clapping Cullen on the shoulder as he approached the tavern’s door. “Good to see you!”

 

“Yes, thank you,” he said, trying to judge whether or not Blackwall had been drinking. He didn’t smell of beer; only of the smoke from Harritt’s smithy. “I thought I would join in the, ah, festivities-”

 

“As you should. You’re part of the Inquisition,” Blackwall said thoughtfully. He opened the tavern’s door and gestured for Cullen to head inside. “I’m not drinking, myself, but I found some good would-be drinking companions if you’re interested in partaking, Commander.”

 

“Ah, no, I-” Cullen said awkwardly as the Grey Warden ushered him inside. It was very warm within the tavern, which was stuffed wall to wall with bodies. His eyes instantly caught someone with bright hair - the Inquisitor was sitting on a bench between the Iron Bull and Sera, sporting a black eye but grinning like she hardly noticed it. Her hands were clapped around a too-large tankard on the table in front of her.

 

“Oi,” Blackwall said, tapping a recruit on the shoulder. The recruit looked up, squinting in the candlelight. “Make room for the Commander. He’s joining us.”

 

“That’s not necessary, I can-”

 

“Nonsense, you should join us,” Blackwall said, urging Cullen to take the now-vacant spot on the bench that was directly across from Sera. “You have to take the spot across from Sera, I’m afraid. My shins can’t take much more of her incessant kicking.”

 

Cullen sat down rather ungracefully, rocking the bench that had been placed on one side of the long table. Flissa came twirling by, supporting a tray full of tankards, one of which she placed in front of Cullen. “First one’s on the house,” she said with a wink. “Inquisitor’s treat.”

 

He glanced over at the Inquisitor, who suddenly launched herself into a very animated discussion with Bull. Cullen’s gaze went to the dark liquid in the cup set before him, the loud conversations around him making his ears buzz. It was very loud, very warm, he was very close to everyone-

 

“Hey, are you gonna drink that?”

 

Maybe coming had been a bad idea. The Inquisitor looked like she could care less that he was there; some of his recruits were pointing and giving him encouraging smiles, but certainly no one was-

 

Sera kicked his shin. “Hey! I said, are you gonna drink that?”

 

He looked up, sliding the tankard over to the elven woman. She took it with her slender hands, gulping it down with an impressive speed. “Hey, now,” Bull said, reaching over to grasp the tankard’s handle. He tugged it from her grasp. “You’ve got to go back to the Fallow Mire tomorrow, remember? I don’t need to wade through the bog and your puke.”

 

“Hey!” Sera scrambled to her feet and a mock chase ensued around the tavern as Sera climbed over table and chair (and people) to try and reclaim her tankard from Iron Bull, who looked quite pleased with himself as he played keep-away.

 

Various people in the tavern picked teams, some trying to sabotage Bull by standing in his way and others bumping into Sera as she followed him around the room. Cullen watched them for a moment, before turning back around in his seat. Unfortunately, as he was turning, he managed to catch Margol’s eye unintentionally.

 

There was an awkward silence he felt obligated to try and fill. Cullen cleared his throat. “Congratulations on your successful outing to the Fallow Mire, Inquisitor.”

 

“Thank you,” she said with a small nod, lifting her tankard to her mouth.

 

They sat for several minutes, Cullen unable to think of anything else to say. Margol seemed intent on avoiding his eye contact, even though he was stealing glances at her as she gazed down into her tankard. Eventually Blackwall, who had been enraptured by the Sera/Bull chase, turned his attention back to the small group left at their table.

 

“The Inquisitor has been helping me locate some Grey Warden artifacts,” Blackwall said casually. “We’re returning to the Fallow Mire tomorrow with the hope of finding another one.”

 

“There’s also an apostate in the area that we think has been possessed by some kind of demon,” the Inquisitor said quickly. “We’re not making a trip solely to pick up some Grey Warden items.”

 

“It would be fine if you were. The trips are yours to plan as you see fit,” Cullen said quietly. “I trust your judgment.”

 

The Inquisitor only nodded and continued to be very interested in whatever was in her tankard.

 

Blackwall cleared his throat. “So! Commander, the troops are looking very nice. I was watching you practice in the yard earlier,” he said. “Was wondering if you ever needed any help. I’d be glad to teach whatever odd bits I’ve picked up over the years. When I get back from the Fallow Mire, of course.”

 

“I would be appreciative of whatever insights you could bring,” Cullen said, watching Margol out of the corner of his eye. She stood suddenly, her tankard clanging loudly as she almost tipped it over.

 

“I’m going outside,” she announced, a bit unsteady as she hopped over the bench. “It’s too warm in here. Keep an eye on my tankard, will you, Blackwall?”

 

“Sure,” he said with a nod. Both Cullen and the Grey Warden watched her as she left, slipping through a side door out into the cold black night.

 

Blackwall waited a few seconds, then elbowed Cullen in the ribs. It didn’t hurt because he was still wearing his armor, but it got his attention. “I think,” Blackwall said slowly, cocking his head toward the door. “She wants you to follow her.”

 

“What?” Cullen asked, already standing. “Are you sure?”

 

“I’m sure,” Blackwall said with a low chuckle. “Go, lad. I’ll save your seats.”

 

Cullen nodded, making a beeline to the side door. Some of his recruits greeted him as he walked through the crowd; he gave them smiles and a nod, but could not be deterred in his quest to reach the exit. Finally, he made it to the door and pushed it open. It took his eyes a second to adjust to the dark, but when they did he saw that Blackwell had been correct; it looked like she had expected him.

 

“Blackwall suggested that I… well. He’s a smart man, Blackwall.”

 

“Yes,” the Inquisitor agreed with a small smile. “He is.”

 

He watched as she took a few steps, before somehow hopping up on the low stone barrier that separated the lower portion of Haven from the upper part where the Chantry sat. Cullen could feel his eyebrows raise; inside she had nearly stumbled over a bench, but out here she seemed as graceful as ever.

 

He leaned against the wall near her, his back pressed against the barrier she sat upon. Her lungs swung gently near his right shoulder. For a few minutes they were like this; Cullen watched thick snowflakes swirl down onto the ground.

 

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry. I’ve been avoiding you,” the Inquisitor said finally.

 

He could think of a thousand appropriate, mechanical responses he could give her. A straight apology, a formal one, a “beg your pardon” or some other ridiculous statement he had been taught to repeat. But he watched the snowflakes swirl and it seemed like they were utterly alone in the darkness, even though the tavern was a stone’s throw away, and he could not stop the truth from tumbling out. “I was avoiding you as well, I suppose,” Cullen said after a few seconds. “I thought you would yell at me in front of my troops again. I didn’t want them to see the Herald of Andraste being furious with their commander.”

 

She laughed. “I wasn’t angry at you,” she explained. “I was embarrassed. And ashamed. I acted like a cranky child. I mean, I act like a cranky child a lot of the time, but this time it was particularly inappropriate and rude of me.”

 

Cullen sucked in a breath before sighing. “I… we were both out of line,” he amended. He kicked off of the wall, moving so that he could face her. Well, kind of face her - she was still a good three feet higher than the top of his head. “I apologize, Inquisitor.”

 

“Me, too, Commander.”

 

He held his hand up to her. She tipped forward, catching his hand as she fell a short ways and used it to support herself on her landing. “You can call me Cullen, you know,” he said after a moment, watching her straighten herself. The candlelight caught her face; her black eye jumped out at him, but he also noticed some curved scars on her jawline and cheek for the first time.

 

“And you can call me Margol, instead of Inquisitor,” she informed him.

 

“Margol, then,” he said with a small smile, nodding. After a second, he gestured to her black eye. “Is that the work of the Avvar leader that you fought?”

 

“Ah, no,” she laughed again, looking sheepish. “It’s from Bull, actually.”

 

“What?”

 

“I… it’s embarrassing,” she admitted, looking down at her feet. “Sera and I have this game… ‘pin the tail on the Bull.’ We’re trying to see who can attach a fake bull tail to him first. He can’t notice and he can’t take it off for at least ten minutes.”

 

Cullen stared, then laughed. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard.”

 

“You obviously need to hang out in the tavern more, otherwise this would be the least ridiculous thing you’ve heard,” Margol said, smiling now. He could practically see her settling into story-telling mode as she went on. “So, the Iron Bull was sleeping on his bedroll, no tent. Sleeping stomach down. I thought it was the perfect opportunity to finally win the game.”

 

“He woke?” Cullen guessed.

 

“He woke,” she confirmed. “And turned around real fast and his elbow landed on my face really hard.”

 

“You were lucky. I imagine many others wouldn’t have an eye after being elbowed by a Qunari,” Cullen said, crossing his arms over his chest as they stood.

 

She shrugged, holding up her marked hand. He could barely make out a very faint, greenish glow on her palm. “I think it’s because of this,” she said, inspecting her palm carefully. “It makes me stronger, I think. Hardier? I don’t know. But I seem to heal faster and it takes more hits to knock me down.”

 

“A surprising benefit, but I suppose it’s a welcome one.”

 

“If you need anything risky and stupid done any time soon, I’m your woman,” she smiled and let her hand fall back to her side. A minute passed before anyone spoke again.

 

Cullen cleared his throat. “You and the Iron Bull seem close.”

 

“I suppose,” she agreed after a moment. “He’s funny. It’s strange, though… sometimes he’ll tell a joke and I’ll laugh and then I remember that he’s a Qunari spy. Makes me wonder if he’s actually telling jokes because he wants to or because he knows I like jokes and wants to get closer. More information, you know?”

 

“That would be unnerving,” he agreed. “Yet you’ve been bringing him with you on a lot of your excursions. You must trust him.”

 

“I do. Also, he’s a good fighter. It helps when you have a wall of muscle to stand between you and all your enemies,” Margol said with a laugh, then rubbed the back of her neck. “I think some people think I must be insane. I welcome a Qunari spy into our ranks. I managed to convince an Avvar to join us, too. Maybe I have a death wish.”

 

“Or maybe you just recognize that we need as much help as we get.”

 

“Also, I’m still not completely convinced I’m not dreaming or that this is all one weird, prolonged joke. Surprise! You’ve got a green hand. Surprise! You need to go recruit some mages or templars to help you seal this big rip in the sky… what harm could throwing in an Avvar do in the grand scheme of things?”

 

He chuckled quietly. “True enough.”

 

After several seconds, she nodded back toward the tavern, an invitation in her green eyes. Cullen began to walk back toward the side door of the tavern, the Inquisitor - Margol - following him.

 

Things seemed to be in the same state as they had left them, except now the Iron Bull and Sera were back to sitting side-by-side on their bench. Blackwall spotted them and waved them over.

 

“Welcome back,” he said as they sat down, Margol next to Sera and Cullen across from her, next to Blackwall.

 

Sera studied them for a moment, her face twisting into a sour expression. “Nah, Bull, you’re wrong,” she said, turning to the Qunari. “They don’t look like they’ve been-”

 

“So, boss,” Bull said, throwing a heavy arm into Sera. She toppled back onto the floor, looking irritated as she righted herself. “Never asked. Where’d you learn to fight? Thought you were some bann’s daughter.”

 

“I am a bann’s daughter,” Margol said with a nod, a sly smile curling up the edges of her mouth. “But everybody has their hobbies, right?”

 

Blackwall snorted. “Most people’s hobbies don’t include subterfuge and hiding in shadows, though, do they?”

 

She smiled, shrugging. “I have to keep some things mysterious. I can’t always be an open book to everyone.”

 

They continued to talk for another half hour, mostly Margol and Bull doing the talking and the story-telling. Cullen learned about a few near-death experiences both of them had gotten themselves into during their Inquisition excursions. Those stories made his gut twist; they weren’t doing a very good job of keeping their Inquisitor in one piece and out of harm’s way.

 

Eventually, Margol yawned and stretched her arms. “I think I should go to bed,” she decided, standing. She turned to look at her companions at the table. “And you all should get to bed soon, too. We’re leaving tomorrow morning. I’m not going to delay because you’re hungover.”

 

“I think Sera might be the only one that has that problem,” Bull said with a snort, using the tip of his boot to nudge the elven woman, who was snoring on the floor.

 

“I can walk you to your house, if you’d like,” Cullen said quietly, standing. “I should return to my post.”

 

Margol nodded. “Only because it’s on the way,” she said. She patted Iron Bull on the head, between his horns, as she walked by him. “Take care of Sera, would you?”

 

“Sure thing, Boss.”

 

They left, then, Blackwall raising his tankard (full of water, Cullen assumed, since the Grey Warden had said he did not plan to drink) in recognition as they exited the tavern. It was cold outside and the snow was heavier, falling at an angle with a persistently chilling wind.

 

“We had interesting visitors the other day,” Cullen said as they walked along. He could see the Inquisitor’s house in the distance; she had apparently left a lantern burning outside that cast some light upon the place. “Some Hessarian Blades, I believe they called themselves.”

 

“Oh,” Margol said, sounding slightly embarrassed. “Yeah. That. Them.”

 

“They said you challenged their leader,” Cullen said as they walked. “And now they follow your orders. They said they were grateful. Apparently their former leader was a…”

 

“A bastard?” she suggested.

 

“Yes,” he said with a small chuckle. “I’m always impressed by your methods of recruitment, Inquisitor.”

 

“Ah, well. Anything sounds impressive when you throw around words like _challenged_ and _grateful_ and _bastard_ ,” she said breezily, standing on the small stone step that sat beneath her front door. “Some man killed our agents, so I killed him and now his agents are mine.”

 

“That’s not what Threnn said,” Cullen said after a moment, watching Margol linger at her door. “She said you had to have a specially crafted amulet in order to not be attacked on sight by the Blades. You took the time to do it so you wouldn’t have to kill the Blades.”

 

“Okay, so maybe it _wasn’t_ just me killing someone,” Margol admitted, looking embarrassed. “I just… the Blades, they were following orders. Sounded like they had to. And you should have _seen_ some of then, Cullen. They looked like they were about eighteen. Not even trained warriors - a lot of them looked like they had never held a sword before. How was I supposed to just wipe out all of them because they had bad guidance?”

 

“Your mercy is admirable. I just hope it doesn’t get you killed someday.”

 

“It probably will,” Margol said cheerfully as she opened her door, which made Cullen laugh. “Goodnight, Cullen.”

  
“Goodnight, Inquisit-” She gave him a look. “Margol.”

 

The Inquisitor was away for a week, either traveling to the Fallow Mire or rummaging around in the rainy forsaken bog or traveling back to Haven. Cullen wasn’t sure of the exact timeline; he just knew that when she returned she looked exhausted as she walked by the group of tents set up outside of Haven, leading her horse by its rein to the stables.

 

He expected her to go straight to her home as soon as she handed off her mount to Master Dennet, to sleep away her dark circles, but instead she surprised him by making a straight path toward him.

 

“Welcome back,” he said in greeting, lowering his clipboard as she approached. “Was your trip successful?”

 

“Oh, sure,” she said. “It successfully claimed one of my boots.”

 

Cullen’s gaze automatically went down to her boots. “An interesting story behind that, I’ll bet.”

 

“I was just walking and - squelch,” she tried to replicate the sound of mud sucking something under. “I was up to my calf in Fallow Mire sludge. I tried pulling my leg out and it didn’t work, so I called Bull over. He hooked his arms underneath my arms and tugged - nope. Still trapped. Finally we decided to just pull it off and leave it.”

 

“Which left you… walking around the Fallow Mire with one boot?”

 

She shook her head. “Which left me sitting on Bull’s shoulder as he walked around the Fallow Mire, trying to find a campsite.”

 

“Unfortunate but entertaining-sounding,” Cullen said with a small smile. “Perhaps I should wish for one of my boots to fall in the mud; the bottoms on these are starting to wear thin.”

 

“Oh?” she questioned, looking down at his boots. She said nothing more about them, though, and only yawned after a few seconds. “I think I need to go sleep for about four days. I’ll see you later, Cullen.”

 

“Farewell. And welcome back. I said that already, didn’t I? Well, welcome back. Again.”

  
She laughed, nodding and waving goodbye as she set off toward her home. “Thanks,” she called, and then she was gone. Cullen thought she would go straight to bed and he wouldn’t see or hear from her for another day, which is why he was so surprised when he entered his tent later that night to find a new pair of boots sitting on his pillow.


	5. shitshitshit

Margol decided that she liked Cullen. He was stiff and overly formal sometimes, but that was what made him fun. She liked watching his face flush when she brought up something that her father would call “unlady-like.”

 

“My youngest sister is a templar,” she said one day as they sat on a fallen log outside of the gates, watching the troops run laps around the lake. “I remember there was a little ceremony when she took her vows as a templar. Did you take vows?”

 

“I did,” he confirmed absently, scribbling something down on his clipboard. Occasionally he would glance up as one of his recruits ran by.

 

“Hmm,” she said. “Did you take vows of chastity?”

 

He coughed loudly, apparently choking on his own spit. “I - why would you ask that?” he questioned, bringing his eyes up to meet hers. She only smiled, savoring the flush that was spreading up his neck and to his cheeks.

 

“I was just wondering,” she said with a smile, shrugging innocently.

 

“I - no, I haven’t - no,” he said, rubbing his face with his hand. Cullen sighed again. “Can we - can we talk about something else?”

 

She found more and more that the person she spoke to the most was Cullen. At first that person had been Josephine, but as time went on and the Inquisition grew in strength and in number, the ambassador hardly had any free time. She was spending her days writing letters, ending her nights with ink splats on her face from hurriedly writing answering letters to important would-be allies.  
  


“Josephine,” Margol began one day during their rare times alone. “I miss you.”

 

Josephine looked up from one of her letters, a small smile spreading across her face. “That was unexpected,” she said. “I thought you were going to chastise me for how I’ve thoroughly ignored you for these past two weeks.”

 

“Ah, it wasn’t intentional,” Margol said with a wave of her hand. “I know you’re incredibly busy.”

 

“I am. But I promise you, once you return from Redcliffe we shall sit down and have a wonderful afternoon of tea and Orlesian candies.”

 

Margol smiled, pleased with Josie’s promise. An afternoon of tea and candies and company from one of her now-closest friends sounded wonderful. This promise made her pick one of the fastest mounts that Dennet had - the sooner she got back from meeting Fiona in Redcliffe and recruiting the mages, the sooner she would get to her afternoon with her friend.

 

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like that would happen soon after all.

 

Fiona was confused when they met her in Redcliffe, claiming that she had never met the Inquisitor and that she hadn’t been to Val Royeux since before the Conclave. Things only became more complicated when she revealed the mages had already pledged themselves to someone - a Magister from Tevinter.

 

Margol instantly distrusted Alexius, the hair on the back of her neck standing up when he spoke, and this distrust was only fueled when his son “slipped” and managed to give her a note without anyone noticing. Bull let out a rumbly, “I don’t like this, Boss. Doesn’t seem right.”

 

“I know it doesn’t,” she said, her eyebrows furrowing as she stared at the front door where Alexius had disappeared. “We’ll find out and we’ll fix it. That’s what we do. Right?”

 

“Right,” he confirmed and they all headed to the Chantry. It turned out their suspicions about Alexius had been correct. His apprentice, Dorian, revealed that Alexius was slipping; he was using magic he couldn’t control and was essentially unraveling time - and the world - itself.

 

“Of course he is,” Margol breathed. “Why could this be simple?”

 

They left Dorian, promising to return, and hurriedly rode their mounts back to Haven. Margol was glad she had chosen the fast horses; even though now she wasn’t speeding back toward an afternoon with her friend, but toward the war room.

 

“Cullen!” she called as their horses trotted into Haven. She pulled on the horse’s reins, making Buttercup stop in his tracks.  The Commander looked away from where he had been running more drills with his troops and came to stand near her horse, his gloved hand rising up to pat the mount on his neck. “Where’s Cassandra?”

 

Though Cullen had initially been smiling to see her return, the smile fell as he looked upon her concerned face. “She’s with Josephine. What is it?” he questioned quickly, shifting into his Commander persona. “What happened in Redcliffe?”

 

“Fiona allied with a Magister from Tevinter,” she said a bit bitterly, accepting Cullen’s hand as he helped her dismount the horse. They walked the horse back to the stables. “Which would be fine - she is free to make whatever decision she wants, no matter how dumb - except that this Magister is essentially fooling around with magic and unraveling the world.”

 

“Unraveling the world?” Cullen echoed.

 

“Yes,” she confirmed as they walked up the steps to Haven. “I saw it myself, Cullen. We closed rifts where… things weren’t normal. Time was… odd around them. It was shifting. Some things were slow, others were fast.”

 

“Then he must be stopped,” he decided, his voice full of steel as they came toward Leliana’s tent. She was bent over a table, drawing something out for one of her agents. “Leliana! War room!”

 

She looked up, nodded briefly as she set her quill back down upon her table, and then was taking swift steps behind them. The three of them pushed open the doors of the Chantry and Leliana momentarily veered off to collect Josephine and Cassandra from the ambassador’s room.

 

“We need to figure out how to meet this Magister,” Cullen said as they waited for the rest of the group to join them. He pulled a scroll from a shelf, laying it down upon the war room table. It was a map of Redcliffe. “Do you know where-”

 

“Meeting him isn’t the problem.” Margol said after a moment. “He invited me to come meet him in Redcliffe Castle.”

 

“And… you’re not actually thinking of accepting his invitation,” Cullen said flatly, his eyes snapping up from the map to Margol’s face. She said nothing, but her intentions must have been plastered on her face for he straightened, looking suddenly irritated. “Inquisitor, that’s a death sentence. You’re walking right into his trap.”

 

“Whose trap are we talking about?” Leliana asked as she strode in, Josephine and Cassandra at her heels. The spymaster took in Cullen’s irritated expression and sighed. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

 

Margol explained the situation to the three women. As soon as she was finished, Cullen spoke, his arms over his chest. “You see? It’s a trap, one that the Inquisitor plans to walk right into.”

 

“There must be some way we can disarm his trap,” Margol protested, ignoring Cullen’s bristling. “Some passage into the castle, where we can have our agents take out any threats he will have stationed-”

 

“There is no way into the castle,” Cullen said, jabbing his index finger down onto the map he had spread on the table. “Redcliffe Castle is is impenetrable.”

 

“Perhaps we can take it by force,” Cassandra suggested, pointing to the front entrance. “It is not ideal, but it is direct.”

 

Josephine frowned. “That sounds like it would cause many casualties. Can we afford to risk our men?”

 

“We-” Cullen began.

 

“I’m not risking it,” Margol said, shaking her head. “Either I go there by myself or I don’t go at all and Alexius has his mage army.”

 

“You’ll be killed!” Cullen protested. “We will lose everything unless we take the troops-”

 

“Perhaps,” Leliana began quietly. Everyone stopped, turning to look at the thoughtful-looking spymaster. She took slow steps to the table, her finger tracing the castle’s schematic. “Perhaps not. There is a secret passageway into the castle that is not on this schematic, nor any other I’ve ever seen.”

 

“Am I going to have to crawl through some sewage drain?” Margol asked, shoulders slumping.

 

“No,” Leliana said with a small chuckle. “You will act like nothing has changed. You will go to the castle with a small party to meet with Alexius. He will, of course, demand that only you proceed into the building, but I don’t think he can afford to turn you away.”

 

“He’ll kill her on the spot!”

 

“No, Cullen, he will not. Alexius is a mage, but he is not as powerful as he’d like us to think. The fact that he is unable to control the magic he has summoned proves that,” Leliana said calmly. “While you are talking to Alexius, I will have my people move through the passageway. It should be clear - it is used to evacuate the arl and his family during times of duress.”

 

“And what if Alexius knows of this passageway?” Cassandra asked, her eyes flickering down to the map. Leliana was bent over the table, lightly sketching in the passageway. “Your agents will be snared and the Inquisitor will be left defenseless.”

 

“I am positive he doesn’t. The passageway has not been used in years and is quite hidden.”

 

“Is that our plan, then? To distract Alexius while your agents take out his men?” Josephine asked, looking worried. The little concerned crease between her eyebrows was back. “There are so many things that could go wrong…”

 

“Nothing is going to go wrong,” Margol said with a small encouraging smile in Josephine’s direction. “We just need to make sure we’re prepared.”

 

“I will gather my agents and make sure they know the location of the entrance,” Leliana said, beginning to head to the door. “Cassandra, would you assist me?”

 

The Seeker nodded, taking long strides to the door.

 

“Josephine, can you speak to Threnn and ask if we can get some specialized equipment for the infiltrating party? I want to make sure they’re geared up in the best, just in case something goes awry,” Margol explained.

 

“I - yes, Inquisitor,” Josephine said, setting her shoulders back and striding out of the room.

 

Margol turned her back to the closed door. “Cullen, can you-”

 

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he said quietly, his clenched fist resting on the table. He was staring down into the map, looking at the passageway that Leliana had drawn. “There are too many things that can go wrong.”

 

“Nothing-”

 

“The passageway could be sealed. It could be blocked by a landslide,” he began, still gazing down at the map. “It could be caved in halfway through. There could be too many guards in the castle. There could be traps, there could be magic wards, there could be-”

 

“Cullen,” Margol said, raising her voice a little. He finally lifted his eyes, meeting her gaze. “I know. I know there are a thousand things that could go wrong. But what choice do I have? I either go and meet him and try to figure out some way to fix this or I stay here and he gets his mage army and everything is ruined anyway.”

 

“You always have a choice. I realize we have made it seem like you don’t, but you-”

 

“I know,” she said firmly, watching as Cullen walked around the table to stand next to her. “This is my choice.”

 

Cullen’s arm rose up to grip her awkwardly on her upper arm. “I… you need to be careful. Especially so, going in blind like this with so many factors that could go wrong.”

 

Margol smiled. “Relax,” she said, patting his hand. “It’ll be fine.”

 

It was not fine.

 

Oh, sure, it was fine at first. Margol had strode into Redcliffe Castle with Iron Bull and Cassandra at her side and it had all been going great. Alexius had made some thinly-veiled threats, called her some names, only to have his face fall as he watched Leliana’s men take out Margol’s would-be assassins.

 

Dorian had appeared, too, which had really made Alexius desperate. Desperate enough to cast some spell, which Margol got caught in along with her new Tevinter ally.

 

“Gross,” Margol said as she wiped blood off of her daggers. They had been transported to some murky, wet dungeon somewhere and two guards had immediately attacked them. Now the guards were dead, partially submerged under the knee-high water. She looked around. “Where the fuck are we?”

 

“I haven’t seen too much of the Redcliffe castle,” Dorian said slowly, using his staff to illuminate the dark dungeon. “But I think we’re still in it.”

 

“They have a water problem,” Margol said gruffly as she began to push her way through the door. “I would have thought Arl Teagan would have kept this place a lot nicer.”

 

“Hmm,” was all Dorian said in return. Eventually she learned why he had been so quiet; he had been thinking not about where they were, but when they were. He voiced his suspicions to Margol later as they ascended some stone steps. “I believe Alexius accidentally set us into the future. How far, I am not sure, but… we are no longer where we were.”

 

Margol didn’t deal with this very well. At first she laughed, sure that Dorian had to be mistaken. But then, everything seemed to line up with his theory. And the final nail in the coffin was when they found Fiona, who was - well, she wasn’t doing very well.

 

“You must go back,” Fiona pleaded, her voice gravely and her eyes red from the corruption of red lyrium. The enchanter was in a cell that wasn’t locked; her captors had apparently knew it would be impossible for her to escape with all of the lyrium crystals that were fused to her body. “Stop this from happening! Prevent it from coming true!”

 

“I will,” Margol promised, heart thrumming strongly. Suddenly, she was angry. She was angry that all of this had come to pass. She was angry when they found Iron Bull in his cage, angry when she saw Cassandra and angry when they found Leliana, who told them nothing of the future in order to spare Margol’s guilt.

 

Her stomach was twisted in knots, but it was on fire. Her marked hand sparked with her anger; Dorian yelped in surprise the first time that it happened. “I’m going to kill Alexius,” she said through gritted teeth as they cut down more Venatori agents. “I’m going to kill him.”

 

“Yes, well, we need to get back before we can do that, so just focus on staying alive, please,” Dorian said, sounding surprisingly nonchalant. And why should he be emotional? This wasn’t his fight. These weren’t his friends who had red lyrium eyes and rasped as they breathed. This future hadn’t happened because he disappeared.

 

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” she repeated more than once as they fought through, trying to open the throne room door. Her anger fueled her; it made her focus. It made her able to ignore thoughts of where Josephine was, where Varric and the others were. It made her able to push Cullen to the back of her mind. Her vision was a single dark tunnel: at the end was Alexius, dead, and nothing else mattered until she got to that point.

 

Margol didn’t feel any blades as they touched her, hardly noticed any spells as they burned her during battles. Her focus went on getting into that throne room and as they fought through an army of demons that Alexius summoned to defend himself, she cut them down.

 

She felt numb as she watched him cower, numb as an army of monsters appeared at the door of Redcliffe Castle. The Elder One, Leliana called him, and informed Margol that she would try to buy them some time. Iron Bull and Cassandra headed outside to make their last stand, but it didn’t make much of a dent on the Elder One’s path.

 

Their bodies fell in slow motion, an effect of the time magic. Or maybe it wasn’t, maybe Margol just felt like it was slow motion as her friends bodies hit the cold stone floor of the castle. She felt nothing at their deaths, felt nothing as she watched Leliana be struck down in the midst of her final, desperate chant.

 

“We must go back,” Dorian yelled, but she was too hypnotized by the scene before her. Finally he grabbed her arm and shook her, making her start. They must go back. She must go back. She must go back and stop this from ever happening, stop this Elder One before he killed all of her friends all over again, before they were eaten up by red lyrium.

 

Margol took one last, long steely look at the scene before her before nodding, stepping into the portal with Dorian.

 

He had been right; it took them right back to Alexius’ throne room in the past, where Cassandra and Bull were waiting for them. They didn’t seem surprised to see Dorian and Margol return; she thought it must have been only a few seconds for them.

 

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Margol said quietly as Alexius yielded, her grip on her daggers hard enough to turn her muscles right.

 

“Boss?” Bull asked uneasily, taking in her blood-stained armor and various cuts and bruises.

 

“What happened?” Cassandra demanded.

 

She offered no further explanation. The next few hours were a blur; she vaguely remembered seeing the king, recruiting the mages as allies. Beyond that she wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, only that they had stayed in Redcliffe and she had taken a long bath to soak away all of the crusted blood.

 

Dorian returned to Haven with them, intent on righting the world and assisting in any way that he could. Margol thought she probably didn’t sound very enthusiastic as he announced his plans; she couldn’t stop thinking about how terrible the world had ended up after she had disappeared. Sometimes these thoughts even leaked into her dreams; many nights she woke up with a start after seeing cold corpses that had the faces of her friends.

 

On one such night, she dreamed she had to walk through a forest. From every branch hung a dead body that churned against her as she tried to walk out of the forest; sometimes they moaned her name at her, twisting to shout at her. She woke with a start, trying to erase the vacant stare of her youngest sister.

 

Margol decided she didn’t want to risk returning to sleep and revisiting the terrible dream she had been having, so she slid out of bed and dressed. She didn’t put her armor on, merely dressed in trousers and a plain brown tunic; she didn’t plan on leaving the perimeter of Haven and felt no need to take her weapons, either.

 

To her surprise, Varric was awake. His fire flickered as he sat, hunched over and writing by firelight.

 

“You couldn’t sleep, either?” he called quietly as she approached. He gestured to the spot next to him on a makeshift stone bench. “I don’t suppose you’re awake because you thought of some wonderful dialogue for your next bestseller.”

 

“Not quite,” she said, forcing a small smile. “Are you still going to write about this mess?”

 

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug, putting his quill down. “Depends on how it turns out.”

 

They sat in silence for a while, Margol listening to the scratching noise of his quill and the crackling of the fire. Her gaze was on the fire itself, but she wasn’t focusing on it; her green eyes looked past it as she was lost in her thoughts again.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Margol looked over at Varric, who had not looked up from his writing. He was still bent over his papers, occasionally dipping the quill into an inkpot he had squeezed between his knees.

 

“Cassandra told me to not bug you about what happened,” he continued, scratching something out as he frowned. “So, naturally, I’m doing the opposite.”

 

She genuinely smiled then and shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment.

 

“If it helps you figure it out, I don’t think you’re okay,” he said, sticking his quill in the inkpot and leaving it there. He sat all of his writing materials down on the ground next to him. “Remember when we fought all those corpses in the Fallow Mire? You could probably go back and blend right in with them right now.”

 

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically, but she was sure it was true. She just hadn’t thought it had been that obvious. Margol rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. “I got sent into the future.”

 

“I already know that part,” Varric said. He shrugged as he saw her raised eyebrow. “Those reports they make you write after every mission aren’t that confidential, Inquisitor.”

 

“Well, I kind of left out some parts,” she admitted. “I told everyone that there was an Elder One and that he was planning on taking over Thedas, but I… there was more.”

 

“I’m guessing this more is going to be bad,” Varric predicted. “I mean, you used to walk around here and talk to everybody. I’d see you in the tavern all the time and I’d hear about how you’d done some annoyingly small task to make somebody’s day. But now you don’t. So my question would be: why? What happened in the future?”

 

“Everyone was dead,” Margol said bluntly, looking down at her palms. “Everyone was dead because I wasn’t there to stop it from happening. And that red lyrium you talked about - it was everywhere. It infected everyone. Bull and Cassandra and Leliana.”

 

“Wait, you saw people you knew in the future?”

 

“I did,” she confirmed quietly, her vision blurring. She blinked, willing herself to stop. “And I saw them die.”

 

“Well, shit,” Varric said finally.

 

“Well, shit is right,” she said with a small cynical laugh, but the laugh turned into a choking sob halfway through. Her vision blurred again and this time she couldn’t stop it; hot tears slid down her face, burning the few open wounds she still had from her ordeal in the future.

 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Varric said, hurrying to clap his arms around her in a strong, warm hug. “Shit, kid.”

 

“Everyone died because I wasn’t there,” she said, her words twisted by her sobs and tears. “Everyone died because I messed up. What if that happens again? How can I go back to being how I was, Varric? How can I laugh and make jokes and - I treated this like it wasn’t serious, like everything was going to turn out okay, but I don’t know that, I don’t know the future won’t come to pass anyway, I don’t know-”

 

“Nobody ever knows. You just… gotta try anyway,” he said, rubbing his hands in circles on her back. He seemed like he had been the type of person who had done this a thousand times; Margol wondered if Hawke had ever broken down and the thought gave her comfort, oddly. “Cause the alternative is not trying and then the future is for sure going to be shit.”

 

“I guess,” she said after a moment, pulling herself out of his arms. She wiped her face on the sleeves of her tunic, fairly sure she had a bubble of snot coming out of her nose.

 

He only nodded, watching her for any signs she was about to randomly start crying again. Finally, when it seemed she had resigned to only the occasional sniffing noise, Varric gestured at her clothing. “Aren’t you cold?”

 

“No,” she said, looking down at her thin clothes. She lifted her marked palm, which sparked green suddenly. “I think the mark makes me warmer. Solas said it could be a side effect of all the magic.”

 

“Yikes,” he said, pointing to the sputtering of green that was falling from her palm. “Ah, it’ll be okay. In a week, once all the mages get here, we’ll use that thing to close the Breach and be one step closer to stopping this Elder One. Between you and me, this guy sounds like he’s contemplating for something - nobody names themselves something so pretentious without feeling inadequate in some areas.”

 

Margol laughed, wiping her nose on her sleeves again. “Don’t say that around Bull.”

 

“I’m not an idiot,” he said with a grin, leaning over to bump her shoulder with his. Or at least he probably meant to bump her shoulder, but instead he collided with her upper arm. “We’ll do our best, okay? And in the meantime, stop being such a drag. You’re making everyone sad and hopeless. Leave the job of stick in the mud to Cullen, yeah?”

  
“Yes,” she agreed with another small chuckle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you! Yeah, you! You should leave a comment on my work. Tell me what's good, what's bad, what's working, what's not... I appreciate all feedback! It makes me happier to write when I know someone is appreciating it. :) Thanks!


	6. hunt redux

Varric’s talk helped, but it did not stop the dreams. One night, after a dream involving wading through bloated bodies in knee-deep water, she woke with her heart racing. Margol sat up in bed, considering attempting to go back to sleep. But she instead impulsively stood, dressing in her set of light brown leather armor. On her way out the door, she grabbed her bow and arrows as well.

Margol had every intention of asking Varric to accompany her on her impromptu night excursion, but when she approached his tent she saw that there was no sign that the dwarf was awake. The fire pit outside of his cave was mostly dark, a few embers still smoldering, but his tent wasn’t illuminated by lantern or candle.

She stood a few yards away, deliberating. She knew it was stupid of her to go outside of Haven alone, especially now that the Elder One had been identified as her enemy. Margol wasn’t as reckless anymore now that she had seen what would happen to the world if she wasn’t around, yet...

Her feet carried her outside of the gate anyway. 

A pair of guards were stationed on either side of the gate. One of them, a woman, jumped a few inches in the air as Margol appeared. “In-Inquisitor,” she stammered, giving a timid nod. “I’m sorry, ma’am, you just surprised me.”

“Don’t be sorry, you’re doing a good job,” Margol said, but she was not looking at the guard. Her eyes had raked over the tents outside of the gates. A few had lights on. She hesitated, nodding toward the tents. “Is Commander Cullen…”

The guard shook her head. “He’s awake, ma’am,” she said, pointing to a tent on the end. “That’s his tent there. The one on the left.”

Margol gave a small wave in thanks, heading down the slope to the first tent. Once she stood outside, though, she found herself unsure of how to proceed. One couldn’t exactly knock on a tent flap… 

It turned out she didn’t need to find a way to announce her presence. Cullen emerged from his tent within seconds, trademark clipboard in hand as he stood. He very nearly ran into her, as his attention had been fixated upon whatever important document was attached to the clipboard.

“Inquisitor!” he said, clearly startled. He hurried to right himself, as he had to quickly shift himself out of the way in order to not stumble into her.

“Margol,” she corrected.

“Margol,” he said, smiling slightly. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, was only letting his eyes wander over her face. Finally, he cleared his throat, letting his gaze go to his clipboard. “I - why are you awake at this hour?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said.

He finally seemed to notice her bow and arrows, along with her armor. “You weren’t thinking of venturing out there, were you?” he asked, his smile melting into a concerned frown. 

“I wasn’t thinking of venturing out there… alone,” she amended with a smile.

Cullen only looked at her for a moment, before sighing. “I can get a recruit for you. Would you prefer-”

She caught his arm, as he had already been heading toward a neighboring tent whose light was also on. “No, no, you don’t have to bother them,” she said quickly. “They told me you were awake, so I thought I’d see if, ah, if you wanted to… go… with me…”

Margol trailed off awkwardly. Only now was she hearing how ridiculous her plan sounded. She wanted to see if their overworked commander would give up more of his free time to do something as small as escort her as she ran around in the snowy, dark hills. Yikes. She should have just stayed in her house instead of proposing something so ludicrous.

“Nevermind,” she said after a minute, brushing loose hair away from her forehead. “I can just-”

“No! No, I’d - I can go with you,” Cullen said, clearing his throat. He lifted his clipboard. “Just let me put this in my tent and we can leave.”

He opened the flap and very nearly threw his clipboard back into his tent. 

“If we don’t return within an hour and a half, send out a scouting party,” he barked to the pair standing near the gate. 

Then they were off. 

For the first twenty minutes or so, they didn’t speak. They merely walked. Occasionally an animal, woken by their trek, would dart out from its hiding spot, but Margol didn’t make any move to shoot. This wasn’t really a hunting trip. It was a get-your-mind-off-of-your-nightmare trip.

Eventually they stopped, reaching the top of a large hill that overlooked the lake and Haven. If it wasn’t for the smattering of sporadic lanterns, she wouldn’t have even guessed that the small settlement was there.

“I like this,” Margol said with a small smile, exhaling. Breathing seemed easier up here; the cold, dark air was refreshing. The quiet was a bit strange. She wasn’t used to ever not hearing the buzz of someone talking, clinking of tankards in the tavern, Cullen yelling orders or horses whinnying. But here, she could hear nothing but their breathing.

“This?” Cullen asked, moving to stand next to her. “ The view or the trip? The company?”

“All of it,” she said, turning to meet his gaze. Cullen was looking at her, a questioning look in his brown eyes. Margol, miraculously, could think of nothing else to say.

“I… also like this,” he said quietly, turning to direct his attention back to the view. They stood like that for another minute or two, before he hesitantly spoke again. “I saw you and Varric the other night. I did not wish to disturb you at the time, but I noticed you seemed distraught.”

“I, ah,” she began. The first thing that came into her mind was a lie. Something small. My dog back home died. That was harmless. Unless her family ever came to visit and it somehow got brought up. Still, she doubted that would ever happen. She had every intention of saying this quick little lie. Except what came from her mouth was not the lie, but the truth, uncontrollable and tumbling out. “I’ve been having nightmares.”

“That… does not surprise me,” Cullen said quietly, gesturing to a relatively flat boulder that was at bench-height. They moved, sitting down on the cold rock. “I’d actually be more surprised if you didn’t dream of your past ordeals.”

“See, that’s the thing,” she began awkwardly. “These things haven’t actually… happened. Yet. But they could. I saw them-”

“In Redcliffe?”

“Yes,” she said, surprised. “In Redcliffe.”

“This might surprise you, but you’re not as good of a liar as you think you are,” Cullen said with a tiny dark laugh. “When you gave the report about your journey at Redcliffe, I think all of us knew that you were withholding some kind of information from us.”

“You did? Why hasn’t anyone come kicking down my door, then, demanding the entire story?” she asked, tracing shapes onto the rock with her fingertips.

“We assumed you had a good reason,” he explained. “We noticed that you were different. Leliana encouraged us to wait. She told us the truth would come out when it was time.”

“Joke’s on her,” Margol said, forcing an awkward laugh. She oddly felt like crying again. Everyone had known she wasn’t telling the full truth, but everyone had trusted her anyway. Everyone had given her space. “Because I planned on keeping this bottled up inside of me forever. Or at least until it drove me to insanity.”

“I’m glad that didn’t happen,” Cullen said. Then something changed. His posture stiffened ever so slightly, his voice dropped into something different and more formal. “I - I am glad that you have someone you trust to speak with.”

“So am I,” Margol agreed automatically, thinking of how Varric had managed to cheer her up. But then Cullen’s tone of voice and body language caught up with her and her head snapped in his direction, a knot in her stomach. “Cullen, I trust you. Like I said, I hadn’t really planned on telling anyone. It just kind of… came out. Varric was just the one who was there when it finally did. It was just coincidence.”

“Ah,” was all he said.

They sat for several minutes. She was trying to force herself to speak, trying to force herself to tell him what had transpired, to show him that she did trust him. But nothing came out.

“Perhaps we should return,” he suggested, standing.

“In the report I said that I saw people infected with red lyrium,” Margol said, reaching to grasp his wrist so he would not begin to walk away. She could hear herself speak and she felt her mouth move, but she couldn’t control what she was saying. Margol wasn’t even sure what the next word in her sentence would be. “I didn’t say that those people were Cassandra, Bull, Leliana. Fiona. They were dying, you should have seen them, they had crystals growing out of them, tiny ones in their pores, big ones jutting out of their spines and - well, I-”

“You don’t need to continue,” he assured her softly, sitting back down next to her.

“I want you to know,” she said firmly. Margol took a breath. “They died for me. They tried to buy Dorian and I time as a demon army attacked the gate.”

“I understand why you wouldn’t want to tell anyone about that.”

“It’s not even that,” she said. “It’s everyone I didn’t see. Everyone who didn’t survive long enough for me to rescue them from the cells. I didn’t see Varric or Blackwall or Vivienne or Josephine or - or you, Cullen. I can’t cope with people dying because I made a mistake. And, sure, we came back. We’re going to seal the Breach tomorrow. I didn’t even get to that point in the terrible Redcliffe future. But will it be enough?”

“Margol-”

“Every little thing I do, I always question if it’s enough to stop that future,” she felt herself babbling, but she couldn’t stop it. “And what if it never is? What if no matter what I do, things end up the same? What if-”

She was suddenly cut off as he hooked an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. It was a bit awkward; he was still wearing his armor and the fur was tickling her face. Still, he was warm even through the metal armor, and his grip around her was strong. Margol didn’t cry this time, as she had with Varric, just sat there in silence and enjoyed the feeling of physical contact.

“Well,” she said finally, gently pulling away from him. Margol laughed, but she was very aware of how awkward and forced that laugh sounded. “I think I’ve shared enough feelings with enough people to last the rest of my life. If you’ll excuse me, I will never speak about anything emotion-related to anyone else again.”

“I hope that isn’t the case,” he said kindly, standing. He extended his hand to her and she took it, letting him pull her up. “I do understand, you know. Not only about the nightmares, but being reluctant to share anything that makes you feel-”

“Vulnerable?” she suggested as they walked.

He nodded. 

“I hope someday you feel like you can tell me about those things,” she said after a moment. “You’re kind of important around here, you know? We can’t have you pulling a Margol and having breakdowns every other day and needing hugs all the time. You need to look tough.”

“They aren’t mutually exclusive,” he assured her, his eyebrows furrowing. “It took me a long time to learn that.”

They continued to talk, mostly about inconsequential things, as they took a few laps around the frozen lake. Eventually, she could feel herself growing tired, and suggested that they call it a night. Cullen walked her to her house like he had the first night they had finally started their friendship.

“Get some rest,” he suggested at her doorstep. “Tomorrow is a big day for us all.”

And it was a big day. They gathered all the mages and the troops and began the long hike up to the temple ruins. Margol was at the front of the group and every time she would glance over her shoulder and spot the giant gathering of people behind her, her stomach would twist some more. She had never been more aware of how many people were counting on her. Well, no, she had been more aware while frolicking through the future with Dorian, but this was definitely the first time in the present.

She could hear rushing in her ears as she raised her palm, the mages slamming their staffs to the ground. Light was bursting from everywhere - from her palm, from the mages, from the rift itself. Her hand burned but she ground her teeth, determined not to scream. It felt like she had a heavy weight wrapped around her neck, she felt like someone was trying to push her onto her knees. But she wouldn’t yield, she couldn’t, she had to stop the future from rising up to meet her and-

It was closed. 

She gasped as she ripped her palm away from the rift, green sparks falling down in a glittery shower. 

“You - you did it!” Cassandra yelled in disbelief. The Seeker turned to the group of supporters that lined the crater. “The Inquisitor has sealed the Breach!”

There was rushing in her ears again but it wasn’t in her imagination again, it was real. Everyone was cheering, everyone was raising their swords or their staffs or their fists to the sky. 

Everyone came up to her, ruffling her white-blond hair or giving her a hug or a light punch on the shoulder. Or a not-so-light punch on the shoulder in the case of Bull, who made her stumble as they began the walk back to Haven. 

There was music and joy in the air that night. She could hear songs in the tavern and Margol just began to think about going to her house and changing into something besides armor when it happened: the world went to shit.

“There’s an entire army coming over the mountain,” Cullen said. 

Everyone scrambled. A trebuchet had to be defended, a trebuchet had to be reclaimed and then defended and fired. 

They fought and they fought and they fought, an endless wave Red Templars and monsters with red lyrium crystals and just when she thought the fight was over, there was a giant fucking dragon. 

Margol was covered in soot and blood and had splinters in her hands from trying to lift beams off of Flissa and Seggrit, had blisters from the fire that was trying to consume the settlement. And when she finally made it into the Chantry, she knew even before she saw Cullen’s bleak expression.

“There is no way out,” he stated grimly. “We could… we could fire one last trebuchet into the mountain, cause an avalanche to wipe out the army.”

“It would bury us, too,” Cassandra said quietly, but not angrily or in shock. She knew why the commander had suggested it.

“At least we’ll be buried on our own terms.”

But then somehow there had been a sliver, a loophole, a way out. Chancellor Roderick spoke from where he was slumped, talking of a secret pathway out of the Chantry that no one alive knew about. 

Still, it was clear that someone would have to remain behind, to distract the archdemon or the dragon or whatever the thing that was going to kill them was called, to aim the trebuchet and fire it into the sheet of snow on the cliffside.

Her heart thrummed in her chest. “Cullen,” she began, her voice strong despite her shaking hands. Her eyes drifted past him to rest on the group of people that stood at the end of the hall, watching in fearful silence, waiting to find out their fate. “I need you to lead them out.”

He began to argue, began to protest that she couldn’t, that she wouldn’t survive and she was the Inquisitor, that they needed her - but his protests began to weaken as he saw the determination in her eyes. “Perhaps… perhaps you will figure out a way to escape,” he said, but his voice was flat.

“What is this ‘perhaps’ shit? Of course I will,” she said with a small grin that didn’t reach her eyes. They both knew she would not be returning. “I told you - if you need something reckless and stupid done, I’m your woman. I’ll.. I’ll met up with you all sometime in the night. Keep a lantern for me, will you?”

“Two lanterns,” he promised.

Margol took Cassandra and Bull and Dorian with her to the trebuchet. Their jog to the machine was tense; they all knew they wouldn’t be meeting up with the mass of Haven’s residents later. Still, they did their jobs; they defended the trebuchet as she pulled, aiming it into the mountainside.

“Uh, Boss?” Bull yelled suddenly. She pulled her attention away from the trebuchet and followed his pointing hand. 

The dragon was approaching quickly, fire spurting from its mouth in a long stream.

“Run! Go!” she yelled, waving her arms as they all began to sprint. But Margol, who had been aiming the trebuchet while they were defending, was a few yards behind them. It didn’t seem like much of a distance until the fire touched her heels, until she felt an explosion knock her off of her feet.

She sat up with her head ringing and her entire body aching. Things went downhill quickly after that - a figure emerged from the flames. The famed Elder One himself, who went on calling her names as he made vague statements and threats, trying to pull the Mark from her hand. 

He gave her no information, only threw her into the trebuchet in frustration when he realized he couldn’t transfer the magic in her palm to himself. 

“Fuck you,” she said, trying to sound like she wasn’t about to pee herself. He had a fucking dragon, for Andraste’s sake, one that could burn her alive any second. “You’ve talked enough. Go fuck yourself.”

She lunged, kicking the trigger of the trebuchet. The trebuchet arched, the rope whooshing, the projectile launching into the mountainside. Margol watched as the snow began to cascade in a giant, deadly sheet that wiped out all of the small black dots on the mountainside.

The Elder One disappeared, his dragon no doubt flying him to safety.

As for Margol, she didn’t quite reach what she would call safety. She instead fell into a dark, rocky crevice, falling with shreds of lumber and snowy chunks and rocks that bounced off of the walls and struck her in the head.

She landed with enough force to knock her unconscious.


	7. the way back

She woke and everything hurt.

 

Margol lifted her head slowly, hearing a sick ripping noise as she pulled her head off of the rock where her blood had frozen, gluing her to the floor. She moved with deliberate caution, making a list of what ached. At the end of her slow  movements she realized maybe making a list of what didn’t hurt would have been more efficient. Her ribs, her heels, one of her ankles screamed. Her head throbbed, her shoulder ached, she couldn’t twist her torso one way without wanting to cry.

 

Her attention shifted from her body to her surroundings. It was some kind of… tunnel? Passageway? Maybe an old mine of some kind. That was a good sign. If it was man-made, that meant it had to have an entrance. She stood and took a few tentative steps, testing her weight on her feet. It hurt, but she could move without passing out from pain.

 

So she soldiered on. She soldiered on through the dark passageways and through her doubt, trying to convince herself that everything was okay. Even if everyone probably thought she was dead and wasn’t looking for her, even if Haven was buried under snow and maybe the entrance (her exit) to the tunnels was covered in snow, too.

 

It was difficult. Sometimes there were ledges that dropped down five, ten feet at once. They were difficult to climb down without hurting herself further. But eventually, there was something else. “Finally,” she muttered when she saw a light. Her pace picked up as she saw sky - or, at least, she would have seen sky if not for the raging snowstorm that was apparently going on.

 

There was a catch, though. Her path to the outside was blocked by demons, which made her stomach sink. She didn’t have her daggers with her. They had not made the trip with her; she wasn’t sure if they had slipped off before her fall into the hole or if they had gotten lost along the way, but she knew she was essentially defenseless. Margol was considering retracing her steps and finding another exit when the demons finally seemed to notice her.

 

Instinctively, she raised her hand in defense as they approached. To her surprise, something flew from her marked palm. A small green sphere rose into the air, making a circular perimeter of shimmering magic. The demons shrieked in pain, their forms looking like they were slowly being torn away from the world.

 

And then both the demons and the shimmering ball were gone.

 

She gasped, half in wonder and half in pain as she leaned on her good ankle. “Why couldn’t you do that the entire time I was trying to close rifts before?” she asked her hand, examining it. The mark had not spread and though it tingled, it was not glowing. She assumed that meant there were no demons around anymore. The path forward was clear.

 

Clear, but not easy. And Maker’s balls, it was cold! Margol shuffled out of the cave, holding onto rocks for support as she climbed down wooden steps that led up to the entrance. She could hardly see for ten feet because of the snow that beared down upon the world.

 

Her head swiveled from one direction to the other. They both looked the same. No light, no indication that anyone had passed through the area in the last few hours. Margol frowned, glancing over her shoulder to look back at the cave entrance.

 

It was either stay here and hope that someone thought she might have survived and that same someone would think to check buried, abandoned mine tunnels (which was basically a death sentence) or keep walking and hope that she would run into someone who didn’t want to kill her.

 

Neither option looked good, but she chose the walking. At least she might freeze to death quickly instead of starving.

 

After about an hour of walking - or, at least, what she thought was an hour - she saw a campsite. She ran, ignoring her protesting body and diving to touch the ashes in the fire pit.

 

It was cold.

 

Fuck.

 

It was harder to walk after that. Her steps became slower and more of a challenge as her hope began to slip away. She had her fingers tucked into her armpits as she walked, the cold biting through her gloves. Margol became aware that she was shivering violently.

 

Eventually her walk became more of a hike as she headed up an incline. She wasn’t sure what her thought process for choosing the steeper path had been. She hardly trusted her half-frozen brain, anyway, but when she saw another campsite she was grateful she had headed this way.

 

She was shivering as she kneeled in the snow, sifting through the spent campfire. And then she saw the most beautiful sight in the entire world: an ember. A tiny, warm, orange ember in the fire pit, nestled amongst all of the ash. A sign that someone had been this way and that someone had been here not long ago.

 

With sudden renewed vigor she stood, forcing her freezing legs through the knee-deep snow. There had to be somebody, had to be some sign, had to be an end to the frozen wasteland. Margol stopped, green eyes squinting in the near-darkness.

 

There was... a light.

 

No, there were two lights, bouncing side-by-side.

 

Two lanterns.

 

“C-Cullen,” she breathed quietly, trying to make her cracking voice strong. She was trying to yell, trying to get the bobbing lights to come in her direction, but they weren’t. They were moving away from her, getting smaller and fainter.

 

She sucked in a breath, coughing as the frozen air touched her lungs. “Cullen,” she said, a bit louder now. Margol stumbled in the direction of the two lights, determined to reach them before they disappeared entirely.

 

“Cullen!” she yelled, wishing she could control the green light in her hand. She could have used it as a flare, used it for more visibility in the snowstorm. Her hand stayed dark.

 

“Cullen! Cullen! I’m here! Cullen! It’s Margol!” she was screaming now, her voice becoming stronger as she stumbled through the snow, falling and catching herself and getting back onto her feet. The lanterns stopped moving. “Cullen! Please! Cullen! Cullen!”

 

The lights began moving again, bouncing furiously in her direction. Soon she could make out the silhouette of their carrier - it was, indeed, the commander, flanked by two others: an agent of Leliana’s and a soldier. He yelled as soon as he saw her. “The Inquisitor! Get help! Go! Quickly!”

 

“Cullen!” she yelled, her voice full of relief as she sank to her knees. Cullen ran through the snow like it was nothing, reaching her and pulling her into his grasp.

 

She was vaguely aware that he was talking, asking her questions as he clutched her in his arms, trying to tuck his cloak around her. She didn’t even attempt to answer them. Margol stayed quiet, suddenly very aware of how exhausted she was. Everything that had been injured was throbbing full-force, coming back from the frozen stasis it had been in during her journey to safety.

 

“Inquisitor, how-” Cullen began, his voice weaving back into her thoughts.

 

“Margol,” she corrected, her eyes sliding shut.

 

“Margol,” Cullen agreed quietly, hooking an arm underneath her knees. He stood, picking her up and making his way slowly through the snow. Somewhere along the way she either fell asleep or passed out - she wasn’t sure which - but eventually the world went dark again.

 

When she woke, everything still hurt. Sure, it hurt a little less and she wasn’t freezing anymore, but she still felt like maybe she had died in the fall and came back to life in the cold.

 

“Don’t try to sit up,” someone warned. “You’ll only open all of your cuts again and I’m not going to be the one to reseal them, which means you’ll have to get Solas or Vivienne in here to fix them and I don’t imagine you want to deal with either one of them and their harping right now..”

 

Her eyes opened, fuzzy at first. Gradually, they focused, and she could see Dorian sitting on a chair nearby, looking bored as he flipped through some ancient-looking tome.

 

“Where-”

 

“In the middle of nowhere,” he answered, closing the book. “Safe, though, so don’t feel like you have to get up and grab your weapons. Where are your daggers, by the way?”

 

“I don’t know,” she said, pulling her heavy blankets and furs tighter around her body. “I didn’t have them with me when I woke up.”

 

“Woke up from what, exactly? And where? Cullen said that you were only able to get out all of three words before passing out in his arms.”

 

“Mhmm,” she said, closing her eyes as she tried to focus. “I woke up in a mine. Some tunnels. I fell after triggering the trebuchet.”

 

“So you not only survived the Elder One and his dragon,” Dorian said, waving his hand nonchalantly. “But you also survived falling Maker knows how far down into a rock-hard mine with a rock-hard floor… and then survived walking through a snowstorm without any protection besides your magical hand.”

 

“You need to talk to Varric,” she said quietly from her spot beneath her blankets.

 

“What?” he asked, looking confused as he sat his book on top of a nearby chest. “Why?”

 

“Because that sentence sounded really impressive when you said it like that. Make sure he puts that in the book he’s writing about me,” she said.

 

Dorian chuckled. “I’m glad that yet another near-death experience hasn’t dampened your sense of humor.”

 

“If the first five hundred ones didn’t change anything, why would you think the five hundred and first would?” she asked, taking a tentative deep breath. Her side crackled with pain. “Is my rib broken?”

 

“No,” he said, scooting his chair closer to her cot. “Pretty much all of your ribs are fractured, though.”

 

“Yikes,” she said quietly.

 

“Yikes? You’re half-dead and you say yikes?” he asked incredulously, pulling her blankets down to her waist. Margol stayed still as he gently pulled her tunic up, prodding her lower ribs with his fingers. “Hmm. It looks like your accelerated healing is helping you along nicely.”

 

As he surveyed her condition, she looked around. They were in a good-sized tent that was tall enough that Dorian could stand in it without touching the ceiling. It was plain, but apparently heavy enough to keep out whatever snow was falling outside. Beside the chair and the cot there was a chest, a few crates, and candles scattered about. A brazier crackled in the corner.

 

“Did everyone make it out?” she asked finally, drawing in a quick breath as Dorian poked a sensitive wound.

 

“Mostly,” he assured her, his fingertips glowing lavender. “Some casualties in Cullen’s ranks, but not many others. Cassandra and Bull and I all made it back to the Chantry and up the path before the avalanche hit. I should thank you for that - you saved our lives.”

 

“I like fruit baskets in exchange for saving people’s lives,” she said, making him laugh again. “And nice jewelry. But don’t put it in a basket.”

 

“Noted,” he said, his hands glowing brighter as they skimmed across her ribcage. “As soon as you’re cleared for movement, I’m going to have to tell your advisors that you have awoken. Under orders, you see.”

 

“You’re taking orders from someone?” Margol asked, incredulous. “You’re following orders?”

 

“Desperate times,” he said simply. After a few minutes he stood, pulling her tunic back down and letting her tug her blankets up her neck again. “Yes, yes, make yourself presentable and decent. I’ll be sending them in soon. Do try to keep your skin together, yes? And for the love of all that is good, do not stand up.”

 

“I can sit up, though,” she said, propping herself up on her elbows. “Right?”

 

“Seeing as you’ve already done it halfway,” he said, rummaging through one of the chests for a minute. He eventually pulled out several woolen blankets, making a triumphant aha! sound as he did so. “Here. Prop yourself up with these.”

 

Dorian helped her stack the rolled blankets behind her so that she could sit up before her advisors came into the tent. He studied her for a moment. “My thanks were genuinely sincere, you know,” he said. “I imagine I won’t be the last to thank you, either. We’re all alive because of you.”

 

“You’re also freezing and without a home because of me,” she pointed out. “Haven’s buried.”

 

“I’d rather be freezing than dead, a sentiment I imagine everyone else shares,” Dorian said, scowling at her. “I’m only admitting this here where there are no witnesses to verify your claims, but… you’re a force, you know that? A marvel. You’re stubbornness and sarcasm apparently fuels you to achieve what no others would - or could.”

 

“Oh, stop, you’re going to make me cry,” Margol said, only half-joking.

 

“Well,” Dorian said, pulling a cloak from the back of his chair and wrapping it around himself. “Pull yourself together, I’m sending Cassandra first.”

 

The Seeker was there in less than a minute, snowflakes resting in her dark spikes of hair as she clanged in, decked out in her full armor. “Inquisitor,” Cassandra said, her lips pressed together tightly as she sat in the chair that Dorian had been occupying minutes ago.

 

“Uhm, hi,” Margol said after a moment, feeling suddenly guilty. “Am I in trouble, Cassandra?”

 

“What? No, of - of course not!” Cassandra said, incredulous.

 

“Oh. You just look kind of… angry.”

 

“I do? I apologize,” she said, sighing. Margol studied the Seeker - she looked tired. She had a few cuts here and there and dark shadows seemed to permanently lurk underneath her eyes. “We were… not entirely sure if you would recover. And before that, if you were even alive… I thought for sure you were gone. Everyone did.”

 

Margol smiled slightly. “So did I. But there are too many things I need to do before I die. Too many people to annoy, plans to foil, evil Elder Ones to kill. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“But you did. You did. And we thought we would not find you,” Cassandra said, her voice steely. “We need to be more careful. You need to be more careful. They - we - lost the Inquisitor, we-”

 

“Cassandra,” Margol said, holding up a hand. She sighed. “I’ve been mostly dead for what feels like a week and I’m only now starting to feel my toes. Everything is broken or fractured. I think the only thing keeping me alive right now is sheer spite. I know I need to be more careful. I will be more careful. You can lecture me once we have somewhere to stay. Right now - can I get a damn hug?”

 

Cassandra scowled and for a long moment Margol thought that she had offended the Seeker. But then the dark-haired woman moved forward, gently embracing the Inquisitor as best she could without nudging any of the aforementioned wounds.

 

Margol smiled. “Varric!” she called loudly. “Get in here! Cassandra is hugging me! I need a witness! Put this in the book about me!”

 

“Are you - are you never serious?” Cassandra demanded, looking embarrassed as she hastily pulled away from Margol. Her cheeks were flushed and she stood. “I’m sending in Leliana.”

 

Cassandra left and was almost instantly replaced by Leliana, who must have been waiting outside. Leliana shared many of Cassandra’s sentiments - she was grateful for the Inquisitor’s recklessness but felt she needed to be more careful in the future. She also took down what little details Margol remembered and made it into what must have been the tiniest report. Margol imagined it read something like: Shit-talked the Elder One, launched the trebuchet, fell in a hole. Wandered out of hole. Found Cullen.

 

Leliana’s eyes raked over the dark circles beneath Margol’s green eyes. It looked like she had something more to say to Margol, but she headed to the doorway once her report was complete. “Josie will want to see you before you sleep. And Cullen, of course,” she said, her fingers trailing down the flap of the tent. “He will be upset with you, I imagine.”

 

“He can get in line,” Margol said with a sigh. Leliana laughed lightly, then paused.

 

“He yelled at Cassandra, Dorian, and Iron Bull when he saw you weren’t with them. I have never seen him so angry. Asked how they could leave you behind like that…. but we all left you behind in the Chantry, Inquisitor. We must do better. All of us.”

 

She was gone, then, so quietly that Margol wouldn’t have known she had left if she hadn’t been watching her carefully. Josephine was less quiet as she appeared in the doorway - in fact, she was outright noisy as a noise of shocked pleasure escaped her mouth.

 

“I couldn’t believe you were alive and now seeing you - it is you, Inquisitor, and I -”

 

This went on similarly and Margol embarrassingly enough found herself crying as Josephine began to tear up. Their reunion was a lot of promises - that they’d have tea together at least once a week, that Margol would not do anything stupid even if she thought they were all going to die, that they would press onward and find a new home for the Inquisition and protect this one better than they had protected Haven.

 

Margol found herself absolutely exhausted as Josephine finally stood to leave. Her green eyes slid shut as she rested back on her pillows, taking in a deep breath. Leliana had said Cullen was angry. He’d probably yell at her, tell her she was an idiot for abandoning everyone. But he had known it was the only chance they had - he had let her go. He shouldn’t have any right to be angry at her, not when he had known it was their best-

 

Someone cleared their throat. “I can let you rest, if-if you’d prefer.”

 

Her eyes snapped open. Cullen stood at the entrance of the tent, his hand habitually on the hilt of his sword. He wasn’t looking at her, but at the brazier lit in the corner of the tent.

 

“No, I was just mentally preparing myself,” she said after a moment. His eyes slid to her, an eyebrow raised in question. “Leliana said you were angry at me.”

 

“I’m not angry with you,” Cullen admitted after a moment, licking his lips. He hesitated for a moment, before moving to the chair near her bedside. His voice was quieter, lower now and his head was low, his gaze fixed upon his palms. “I am angry at myself. Disappointed. How could I have let-”

 

Margol laughed, which seemed to startle him. He looked up from his palms, bewildered. “I’m sorry, just the implication that I needed someone to let me do something... Cullen, you-”

 

“You almost died on my watch,” he said, voice low still as his gaze returned to his open palms. “I - we - the Inquisition almost lost you. I will not let that happen again.”

 

“I don’t plan on letting it happen again, either, but at the time that was the right choice. The only choice, really,” she insisted. Cullen didn’t say anything, only continued to stare at his gloved hands. Margol scowled, shifting in bed (her ribs groaning in protest) so that she could reach over to grip his fingers firmly. “Hey. Stop beating yourself up about this.”

 

His gaze seemed to be trained on where her pale fingers were tightly gripping his index finger and middle finger - the only ones she could reach without opening her wounds again. Cullen paused, sliding his hand out of her grip and something inside of her chest ached and her cheeks flushed embarrassingly. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, pulling her hand away. “I shouldn’t have-”

 

But he shook his head, tugging off the glove on his right hand. He leaned forward in the chair a bit, gently taking her hand again, warm skin on skin this time.

 

Margol flushed, sure her face was on fire and wondering if she could blame it on the brazier or the fact that she had been mostly-dead for a few days. She didn’t say anything and neither did Cullen, who would not meet her eyes.

 

They sat for a while like that, his hand resting on her bed and her palm cupped around his, before he finally cleared his throat again. “Please, Inquisitor, don’t do anything stupid,” he said simply.

 

“Margol,” she corrected automatically, giving his hand a light squeeze. “And if I promised to never do anything stupid I’d never get anything done.”

 

He chuckled. “True enough, I suppose. You couldn’t expect a sane person to accept the title of Inquisitor.”

 

“They say the Maker sends you what you truly need. And apparently what you needed was a reckless, stubborn mess,” Margol joked.

 

Cullen looked up at her then. “I suppose it was,” he said after a moment, his voice unsure. He cleared his throat, pulling his hand from hers. “I… should, ah, get back to it. We’re trying to look through any old maps, see if there might be anywhere nearby that we might seek shelter.”

 

She had to stop herself from grasping for his hand like some desperate twelve-year-old. Margol mentally chided herself - he was the Commander, a friend who was glad that his friend wasn’t dead. Nothing more. The fact that he had held her frostbitten hand didn’t mean anything - Cassandra had hugged her and Josephine had held her hand the entire time they had talked.

 

Margol watched Cullen stand and put his glove back on, his armor glinting in the light of the brazier. She wondered if he ever took it off. And then she flushed again because why was she thinking about Cullen taking his armor off? He was-

 

He was looking at her expectantly, apparently having said something as he hesitated near the front of the tent.

 

“Uh, what? Sorry, I…” Margol trailed off lamely. Sorry, I was thinking about what you’d look like in a nice blue tunic. Or maybe no tunic. Maybe no breeches, either-

 

“I, ah, asked if you needed anything else,” he said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

 

Yes, I need you to stay and continue holding my hand for the next ten hours at least. “No, I…” she paused. “Actually, ah, I have a favor to ask. I… am kind of tired.”

 

“I was leaving so you could sleep,” he said, looking slightly confused.

 

“Yes, but just because you leave doesn’t mean someone else isn’t going to come in and bother me. Leliana said everyone was very enthusiastic to thank me in person. I can’t imagine many of them would think to wait until after I’ve slept for six years straight.”

 

“So you would like me to have a soldier stationed outside of your tent?” Cullen asked thoughtfully, pulling open the tent flap. “Soldier Bevis! I-”

 

“No!” Margol said, sitting up a little bit more. Her body ached in protest. “No, I wondered if you would, ah. Station yourself inside of my tent.”

 

She realized what she had said just as it reached his ears, which were now a flaming red along with the rest of his face. Cullen looked thoroughly mortified and she imagined her own expression matched perfectly.

 

“Inquisitor, I-”

 

“No! I didn’t mean it like that. I mean,” she fumbled for words, suddenly very inarticulate. “People will bother me anyway unless they think that I’m talking to someone. Like one of my advisors. I was just wondering if you could just sit in here for a little while. Perhaps a half hour, just so I can get a bit of rest before the first wave of grateful thanking.”

 

Cullen looked less embarrassed. “Nevermind, Bevis,” he called to whichever soldier he had picked out. He let his gloved hand fall from the flap, sealing the tent from the cold and wind. “I can, Inquisi- Margol.”

 

“Inquisi Margol. What a lovely title,” she joked, pulling the rolled blankets out from under her so she could lay flat. Cullen assisted, tossing them into the open crate nearby. “Thank you.”

 

He nodded, taking a seat in the chair by her bed. He wasn’t looking at her, but at least he wasn’t staring guiltily at his hands anymore. His gaze was a bit unfocused; he was undoubtedly going over the maps in his head anyway, trying to remember if he knew of any settlements or fortresses nearby that could house them for a while. Margol tugged the blanket tighter around her body, her eyes slipping closed.

 

She was nearly asleep when she heard Cullen speak quietly, suddenly. “Are you warm enough?”

 

“Mmm,” she answered sleepily, not bothering to open her eyes. “‘M okay.”

 

There was a pause and she had assumed he had understood her mumbled answer. There was a slight noise and she imagined him getting to his feet, maybe to go find a map he could study while he helped her ward off unwanted visitors. Unwanted for the moment, anyway, she wasn’t a complete ass and would want to speak to those that wanted to speak to her, but right now she-

 

Right now she was aware that there was a sudden weight on her. There was fur tickling her face and the smell of firewood and soap and the wax used to protect plate mail. Cullen had shed his cloak again and draped it over her with an awkward clearing of his throat, before sitting back down into the chair.

 

“Thanks,” she mumbled quietly, feeling herself slip into unconsciousness. _It smells like you._

  
Only later, once she awoke to find herself alone in the tent but with the cloak still laying on top of her, would she realize with mortification that she hadn’t only thought that last sentence to herself - she had apparently said it out loud. She could fuzzily remember Cullen chuckling quietly. And then, even more fuzzily, she could remember his lips touching her hair before he stood to leave. Or maybe that was just half-asleep, wishful thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! I love comments and they keep me goin. :)


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